


The Reasons for Us

by starandrea



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Amusement Parks, Body Language, Clothing, Consensual Sex, Dancing, Dating, First Kiss, First Time, Free Will, M/M, Making Out, Morning After, Public Relations, Publicity, Self-Determination, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starandrea/pseuds/starandrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian wants to dance.  John has an invitation.  Everyone else watches.  </p><p>(Or, the one where John and Dorian become media darlings and a precinct-wide public relations nightmare, all in a single weekend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [cotton candy bingo](http://cottoncandy-bingo.dreamwidth.org) on dreamwidth ([custom card](http://starandrea.dreamwidth.org/1142596.html)).

John tosses the invitation on Sandra's desk and says, "I'm not going."

"Yes," Sandra says without looking up.  "You are."

"I'm telling you, I'm not," John insists.  "Why do I have to go when Dorian doesn't?"

"Dorian is going," Sandra tells the screen in front of her.  "On-duty synthetics are providing security for the event."

"Fine," John says.  "I want to provide security for the event too."

"Security is covered," Sandra says.  She flips to the next screen, but John's sure she's only pretending to read.  "All members of the division will make a mandatory appearance in support of the Foundation, which exists to serve officers and their families."

She lifts her head to stare at him, folding her hands in front of her.  "What part of their mission do you disagree with, John?"

"Look," John says.  "I'm a member of the Foundation.  I love the Foundation.  What I don't love is getting dressed up in a monkey suit to eat weird food with people I don't know and definitely don't want to dance with!"

Sandra rolls her eyes as though he's being unreasonable.  "No one says you have to dance."

"That's really not my point," John tells her.

"My point is that you're going," Sandra says.  "If making Dorian go with you will shut you up, then take him.  He can be your plus one."

"Done," John says, picking up the invitation again.  "But he's not my plus one."

"No matter how much I appreciate the Foundation, I'm not buying a fundraising ticket for an android," Sandra says.  "He's your plus one or he doesn't go."

John knows when to quit, and he's already backing out of her office.  "We won't bring dates," he says.

"And don't bill the department for his suit!" Sandra calls after him.

Dorian's going to need a suit.  John grins.  It wasn't his idea, but watching his partner jump through hoops might actually be worth it.

"Here you go," he says, dropping the invitation onto Dorian's side of the desk as he passes.  "You can't bring anyone.  And you'll need a suit."

Dorian’s eyes flick away from the virtual terminal, and he frowns when he sees what John set down.  “What’s this?”

“It’s an invitation,” John says.  “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Dorian doesn’t move.  “That’s your invitation,” he says.

“Yeah, well.”  John shrugs.   "I tried to get her to send you instead of me, but she wouldn’t let me out of it.  You're going as my date."

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Valerie says.  “You’re taking Dorian to the Officers’ Ball?”

“He wants to go,” John says.  “I explained that it’s just an excuse to show off, schmooze, and get drunk, but he won’t listen.”

“John, you just listed two of your favorite things,” Dorian says.  “It’s hard to believe it’s so bad that you’d pass up an opportunity to either show off or get drunk, let alone both at the same time.”

John just scoffs.  “You have no idea.”

“Have you ever been to a Foundation event?” Valerie asks.

“I haven't," Dorian says.  His tone is milder when he addresses her, but he doesn’t pull his punches.  "Despite the fact that we account for half the police presence in the city, androids aren’t invited."

"Well, soon you'll know how lucky you are," John says.  “I hope you like shopping.”

“I’ve never been shopping,” Dorian says, and John shakes his head.

“Lucky,” he says again.  “We’ll find something.  And someone will make sure there’s pictures.  It’s a rule.”

“Do you want some help?” Valerie asks.

John raises his eyebrows at her.  “You want to go shopping with us?”

“Actually, I was just going to take pictures,” she says.  “But sure.  I could use something new to wear.  Where are you planning to go?”

“Uh, the mall?”  He got his fancy suits at Formal Occasions, but that was pre-Anna and Anna always insisted there were places other than the mall to get decent clothes.  Considering how things went with her, John doesn’t want to go anywhere else just on principle, but maybe Valerie has higher standards.

“Oh, Formal Occasions?” she says.  “That’s perfect; we can do dresses and suits at the same time.  This weekend okay?”

It’s okay when they agree on it, but by the time the weekend rolls around he has a pile of paperwork he hasn’t gotten to and he officially pulls Dorian from factory duty to help.  When Valerie shows up, John hands him off and tells them to go without him.  He promises not to leave the precinct.  Dorian promises to hunt him down if he goes out on the streets alone.

So John doesn't get to see what they buy, but when he calls Valerie Saturday night to make sure they actually did buy something, she assures him they didn't break the bank and that's really all he needs to know.  He asks Dorian how it went on Monday, and Dorian says with a perfectly straight face, "It was the highlight of my weekend."

John grunts, because who knows what that means.  Valerie's already out on a call, and John's supposed to be a in meeting, so he doesn't push the subject.  He thinks of it again the next day when they're chasing reports of concealed weapons through the mall, which isn't the best time.  By the middle of the week it's too late to ask again, and John can see the description of what was purchased on his account anyway.

It doesn't even occur to him to wonder what Dorian did with the clothes until he refuses a ride after work on Friday afternoon.  John is surprised, because Dorian never turns down a chance to get away from the precinct.  "Okay," he says anyway.  What else is he gonna say?  It's not his problem.  "You want me to pick you up later, then?"

"No, I'll get a ride with Valerie," Dorian says.  "Thank you."

"Valerie?" John repeats.  He looks over at her desk, and she waves.  "Why are you going with Valerie?"

"Because she has my clothes," Dorian says.

"Why does she have your clothes?" John wants to know.  His only excuse is that he didn't think about it, that he reacts to Dorian like he's human and sometimes that gets him into trouble.  Like now.

"Because if I left them at the lab, Rudy would have worn them by now."  Dorian sounds patient and slightly amused, probably by John.  As usual.  "He treats most of the things I bring back as communal property."

John almost says, _so tell him to buzz off,_ but his brain has caught up with his mouth by now--for whatever good it will do--and he's vaguely aware that this would be a bad idea.  “Wow,” he says instead.  “That’s obnoxious.”

“Not really,” Dorian says.  “I get to use his things in return, so it’s more than an even trade.”

John isn’t convinced, but no one asked him so he shrugs it off.  Or he tries to shrug it off.  He always wants to ask how it’s going with Rudy, but Sandra won’t let Dorian move off of police property and John doesn’t want to tell him.  If they argue about him moving in with John one more time, he’ll have to, so he tries to avoid conversations about where Dorian lives.

He can’t stop thinking about it while he gets dressed, though.  Like an annoying roommate, Rudy's driven Dorian off to his friend’s place.  And John didn't even know.  He still wouldn’t know if he hadn’t tried to pick Dorian up like an actual date instead of just meeting him at the function hall with the security contingent.

John's not a great guy.  He's bad with kids, he's a sucker of a boyfriend, and his record as a detective is pretty much shot.  But he prides himself on being a good friend, and if there's one thing he's not willing to let go of it's that.

Maybe he's not supposed to be Dorian's friend.  Maybe Dorian's just his partner, an android assigned to report on him and give him grief and catch bullets in between.  But Rudy lives with him.  Valerie goes shopping with him.  Even Sandra brings him in on cases when John's not around.

Dorian calls John his friend, and everyone else treats him like he is.  If John can't hold up his end of the bargain, it looks like he's the only one.  That's on him.

So when Dorian calls when he's in the car, saying, "Hey, we're outside the Center; you want us to wait for you?" he doesn't ask who's getting Dorian in.  He doesn't ask why Dorian's calling at all if someone offered; he can go with whoever he wants.

He just says, "Yeah, I'm five minutes out.  Give me a chance to park."

There's probably a valet.  There usually is at fancy Foundation events, but John drives a department car and he can't hand over the keys.  He doesn't think about it anymore, and Dorian's never questioned it.  John didn't notice until tonight.

It's not his fault he doesn't recognize them loitering around outside the main hall.  It's a nice night, and the doors to the foyer let in fresh air that's pleasantly cool.  There are a lot of people lingering inside the entrance to the Center, chatting or waiting for someone before going into the function hall reserved for them.  Dorian and Valerie are doing both, dressed to the nines and laughing with another woman like they do this kind of thing all the time.

His gaze slides right past them, not once but twice.  It's only the second time that he does a double take, realizing his mistake in looking for people who look like his coworkers.  Valerie is stunning in a dress he should have known she would pick: glamorous but practical in a pinch, with unrestrictive sleeves and a slit in the side that he'd bet she could hike to her hip if she had to.  Dorian is just as glitzy and it's strange, but John never knew how much he depended on the uniform to identify him as a DRN.

Dorian catches his eye as soon as he turns, and John knows police bots.  He knows every single model, can recognize them with half a glance in the dark and under fire.  But he'd be lying if he didn't admit Dorian looks damned human in a suit.

"Hi, John!" Valerie calls, and a few heads turn to see who she's greeting.  Dorian chooses that moment to smile, a wide grin that is definitely not the reason John smiles back, and she waits until he's closer to add, "Looking pretty sharp, Detective."

"You're not so bad yourself," John tells her.  "And hey, you clean up good," he adds, slapping Dorian gently with the back of his hand.  "You look like a real boy and everything."

Dorian's grin is now a barely contained smile as he tries and fails to look disapproving.  "You looked almost respectable until you opened your mouth," he says.

"Hey, thanks," John says.  Before he can make any inappropriate comments about the redeeming qualities of his mouth, Valerie derails them.

"John, you remember Laurel," she says.  "My little sister?"

Shit, John thinks, staring at her, and he barely avoids blurting out, _This fox is Laurel?_  Valerie has a teenage friend in the youth mentoring program, and she always introduces her as her "little sister."  John's mostly over it, but he does tend to think of her as younger than… well, this.

"Hi," he says, smiling in as friendly a way as he can manage.  "Laurel, it's good to see you again."

"You too," she says, and she smiles back so he must look reasonably well-adjusted tonight.

"Laurel's my date," Valerie says, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing gently.  It's a girl hug.  A sideways girl hug in heels and makeup, and John's familiar with the restrictions on what and where to touch a woman who's as dressed up as they are.

"Great," John says.  "Dorian's mine, so when you two ditch us and run off together, at least I'll still have Val."

"He's kidding," Valerie says, hugging Laurel again before letting her go.  "So shall we go in?"

"We shall," Dorian says.  She smiles at him like it was an actual question, and John rolls his eyes.  Dorian ignores him, holding out his arm to Laurel instead like a perfect gentleman.  "Would you care to accompany me?"

"Um, okay," she says.  She doesn't look unhappy about it, and she slides her arm through Dorian's like she's done it before.  

"I guess it's you and me," Valerie tells him, a small smile on her own face.

"I'm getting that impression," John agrees.  He holds out his arm to her, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

She rolls her eyes the same way he did, which John thinks sums up their relationship pretty well.  She puts her hand on his elbow, though, which he didn't really expect, and they follow Dorian and Laurel across the foyer arm in arm.  Dorian glances back at them once, a blue line flashing and fading under his skin as he smirks.

It's already not the worst Foundation event John's ever attended.


	2. Chapter 2

They get halfway through an appallingly fake seafood dinner before Valerie remarks, "His body language is very human."

John is fending off conversation from a woman across the table who's just so interested in the DRN series, and other people keep trying to join in while he deliberately ignores them.  Valerie is mostly helping, so he says, "Uh-huh," and makes a token effort to glance at the dance floor.

Dorian and Laurel are giggling together in the middle of sparse and idly moving couples.  There's no mistaking them, but what strikes John is how young they look.  How young Dorian looks, minus the uniform and the straight-faced law enforcement stare.  Laurel twirls too fast when he holds their hands over her head, but Dorian moves enough that she doesn't lose her balance and they keep on going.

The rest of the floor is watching them indulgently.  Dorian's nominally teaching her the steps, but it's obviously not important that she get them right.  It's just to give her something to do after she refused anything other than bread from the buffet.  The food is weird, she says, and John doesn't blame her.  She can't even drink to dull the taste.

Now she and Dorian are laughing and dancing like kids at a prom, unexpectedly sharp in their fancy clothes.  Oddly adult in a way John would rather not think about.  And totally unaware that everyone else can see it too.

"Hey," Valerie says.  Her voice is loud enough that he thinks it might be the second time, and he gives her a questioning look.  "You want to show them how it's done?"

"Sure," John says, looking back at the dance floor.  Most people are still eating, so it's not crowded.  He doesn't want to answer more questions anyway.

"Really?"  Valerie sounds surprised and amused at the same time.  "You want to dance?"

"Hey," he says, frowning at her in pretend irritation.  "I can dance."

"Yes," Valerie says, putting her napkin on the table as she gets up.  "But I seem to remember you saying you don't.  Am I the exception, then?"

He'd make a lot of exceptions for Valerie, and he thinks she knows it.  The rest of the table is watching them with too much interest and he doesn't even care.  "You know you are," he tells her.  He even manages a smile when he offers her his arm.

She smiles back, leaning into him as they step away from the table.  He's more surprised when she murmurs, "John, why did you invite Dorian to this--?"  A flick of her free hand indicates the whole room, but mostly the dance floor.

He keeps his voice down too.  He's not sure why they're whispering, but she started it.  "Because he wanted to come."

"And you like giving him things he wants," she says.  

It's not really a question, and this time when he frowns at her it's real.  "What does that mean?"  Even he knows he sounds defensive, but come on.  It's not like Dorian has a lot of good stuff in his life.  If he wants to go to a stupid dance that no one else cares about, what's wrong with that?

Valerie doesn't brush it off.  She just stops at the edge of the dance floor and looks up at him. "People aren't asking you about Dorian because they want to know about him, John.  They're asking because they want to know about both of you.  Together."

He scoffs, glancing over her shoulder at the floor.  “I’m not interesting.”  He wishes they weren’t so curious about Dorian, but at least it makes sense: an out-of-date, too-human machine doing their job as well or better than his human counterparts.  John has questions too.  He just doesn’t have anyone to ask.

“You brought your synthetic partner as your date to a formal event,” Valerie says.  “You’re very interesting.”

“Oh, please.”  John rolls his eyes.  “He’s not my date and you know it.”

“They don’t,” Valerie says.

John considers the dance floor, where no one is paying any attention to them, then looks back at their table, where every eye is furtively glancing their way.  "Are we going to dance or not?"

She gives him the look that says she saw through him twenty minutes ago and she's still trying to decide whether or not to tell him.  "Why did you agree to dance?"

"To get away from stupid questions," he tells her.

It makes her smile, and more importantly it ends the conversation.  He does know how to dance.  Not as well as Valerie, but none of them do anything as well as Valerie.  He's good enough to be her frame, to lead them in ever-decreasing circles around their respective dates, and to heckle Dorian whenever they're close enough.

Later, he'll have to admit that she tried to warn him.  She even tried to give him some cover by dancing with him.  It doesn’t work, and it’s definitely his fault: less than three minutes of up-close observation makes him impatient and exasperated and he drops Valerie’s hand to cut in on Dorian and Laurel.

“You’re keeping your hand too close,” he says, because Dorian just stepped into Laurel’s spin again keep her from losing her balance.  She doesn’t seem to care, but it’s sloppy technique.  He doesn’t know why Dorian can’t compensate after seeing her turn too fast three times in a row.

"This one?" Laurel says, lifting their joined hands a little higher.

"Yeah."  John imitates Dorian's almost-perfect posture and says, "May I?"

They separate, and John steps in between.  He slides his right arm under Dorian's left and takes his other hand.  "I assume you can dance backwards," he says, when Dorian raises his eyebrows at him.  "I'm just showing you how annoying it is to have a partner who doesn't give you enough space."

"I think I have plenty of experience with that," Dorian says, lips twitching, and John rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, okay," he grumbles, because Dorian's still letting him do it.  "Let's go."

John moves into him and Dorian steps back, careful and precise.  He's disturbingly easy to lead, and John tries not to think about how much less awkward this is with someone closer to his own height.  It's just a demonstration.

John squeezes his hand in habitual warning, realizing how stupid it is after he does it.  Dorian can read every movement, probably the slightest shift of muscle.  He doesn’t need a conscious signal to know John’s going to lift his hand.

He gets one anyway, and Dorian makes the turn look stupidly graceful.  John doesn’t even feel bad about pulling his arm in after he starts, cutting off his space and making Dorian duck to keep his balance.  It’s the only break in his flawless execution, and he totally deserves it.

“Shorter arms,” John tells him, when Dorian catches his eye.  “That’s what it feels like.  I could have leaned forward to give you more space instead of taking an extra step.”

“You didn’t,” Dorian begins, then stops.  “Ah.  You’re correcting the way I compensated for Laurel’s height.”

“I’m keeping her from having to compensate for yours,” John says.  It makes him look around again, but Valerie is dancing with Laurel now, laughing as they try to agree on where to put their feet.  “Next time, anyway.”

“Very generous of you,” Dorian says.  He sounds amused.  “I’m sure this doesn’t have anything to do with getting away from the dinner conversation.”

Dorian is staying with him, so John doesn’t stop.  Dorian’s arm is light on top of his, a gentle pressure that’s barely there, but his hand is warm in John’s and John can’t remember what they were talking about when Dorian and Laurel left.  “Food’s terrible anyway,” he says.

"I thought you came to drink," Dorian remarks, smiling as they turn around another couple.  He has perfect rhythm.  It's almost enough to make John self-conscious.

"Thought you came to dance," John counters.  He'll have to pay more attention if they're making a circuit of the whole floor.  "Where'd you learn, anyway?"

Apparently he can only concentrate on so many things at once, because that's a stupid question.  Dorian doesn't bother to tell him so, just answers, "I'm programmed with a variety of protocols for formal occasions, including a number of dance subroutines."

"You ever used them before?" John insists.  There has to be some robot equivalent of dance small talk.

“Yes,” Dorian says, surprising him.  “Rudy has a hologame involving step competition.  We’ve played it several times.”

“Huh.”  John’s not sure which part of that to ask about first, and the hesitation costs him his chance.  Dorian doesn’t need a small talk subroutine, after all: he’s got enough curiosity to keep any conversation going indefinitely.

“What about you?” he asks.  “Where did you learn to dance, John?”

“High school,” he mutters.  “Got all the girls.”  He needs to think about something other than his body, because he’s suddenly aware of it and he can’t afford to be.  Aside from whatever Dorian might pick up, his control of his leg is mostly subconscious.  The more he thinks about it, the more awkward it gets.

“You were a sports star,” Dorian says.  “According to popular media, you should have drawn plenty of attention even without dancing skills.”

John’s surprised enough to almost laugh, and it comes out as a huff of air that makes Dorian smile.  “Yeah,” John says, glancing around the floor again.  The other dancers are largely ignoring them, except for Valerie who gives a little wave when he catches her eye.  “Turns out girls are smarter than that.  Good pass’ll get their attention, but if you want to keep it you gotta have something to back it up.”

“Something like dancing,” Dorian says.  His hand shifts in John’s, thumb rubbing idly against John’s knuckles as he adjusts his grip.  “How unexpectedly cultured of you.”

“Women like a guy who can dance,” John says.  He’s distracted by the idea that Dorian’s fidgeting, so he lifts his hand again and Dorian makes an easy turn before coming back closer than he was before.  “Guys don’t.  They’d rather you know nothing so they can teach you themselves.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows at John.  “You don’t say.”

It takes a couple of seconds for him to get it, but eventually he sighs.  “I’m sorry I corrected your dancing.  You’re good at it, okay?  Better than I am.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part.  Dorian makes it weird by asking, “Does that bother you?”

John scoffs.  “Just don’t ask me to play any hologames and we’ll be fine.”

The song is ending, and Valerie’s there, and she claims Dorian with less warning than John would have liked.  But he got in trouble for causing a scene last year, and Sandra threatened to make him practice attending formal events until he gets it right if it happens again.  He figures he needs at least another year before she forgets.

He finds Laurel back at their dinner table.  A couple of the biggest DRN admirers are missing, so he thinks it might be safe to sit down.  Sliding into the chair beside her, he says, “Want to sneak out and get some real food?  There’s an ice cream machine on the other side of the coat check.”

Her plate’s been cleared, but his is still on the table and she eyes his leftovers with distaste.  “Yes,” she says.  “Please.”

It’s the most sure she’s sounded about anything all night, so he tells everyone where they’re going and leads the way out of the hall.  They’re not quite out the door when Laurel volunteers a second sentence.  “Dorian’s nice,” she says.

“Yeah,” John agrees, smiling a little.  “He’s all right.”

She gives him an honest-to-god judging look and he adds, “He can probably hear us, so I can’t say anything too good.  It’s a partner thing.”

“Are you partners?” Laurel wants to know.  “I mean, like--really partners?”

“He’s my division partner,” John says.  He’s calm about it, at least.  Mostly because she’s the first one to ask.  Tonight.  “And he’s my friend.”

“He’s a robot,” she says, like he might have missed that.

“Oh, look,” John says.  “Coat check.  Ice cream’s right around the corner.”

She doesn’t say anything other than “thank you” when he pays until they’re heading back.  They hover around the door just in case there’s some rule about outside food.  They have a decent view of the dancers through the tables, and Laurel says, “I think Dorian likes dancing with you.”

They’re not far enough outside of Dorian’s audible range for that kind of conversation, so John digs his spoon into his ice cream and says, “He likes dancing, period.  His personal life is boring.”

Laurel looks at him.  In the manner of all haughty teenagers everywhere, she says, “Whose fault is that?”

John rolls his eyes, but Valerie will probably be disappointed in him if he tells her protege to shut up.  “Eat your ice cream,” he says instead.

He catches another glimpse of Dorian and Valerie on the floor.  It's probably his imagination that Dorian's keeping a more polite distance between the two of them than he did with John.


	3. Chapter 3

John wakes up to the sound of his phone.  It's not actually ringing.  It's making that annoying tone that he thought would be neutral, subtle even, when he first chose it to indicate incoming messages.  He's grown to hate it, but there are so many other things he hates more that he hasn't gotten around to changing it yet.

He fumbles for the sound, which turns out to be coming from somewhere beside him on the bed.  It's definitely morning.  And he's definitely wearing the same thing he wore to that stupid dance last night.  He doesn't hear anyone else, and his head doesn't hurt, so he's hoping he just fell into bed and didn't have the energy to get back up.

It feels plausible.  He's never been the kind to pick someone up for the night, even if he has maybe gotten drunk enough to forget once or twice.  Well, just once.  Probably just once.  He's pretty sure.

He squints at his phone, which is too close and too bright.  It makes his eyes water, but he does vaguely remember taking it out of his pocket after he laid down, so yeah.  Not drunk.  Or hungover.  Just fucking tired.

The message on the screen doesn't help.   _Wake up,_ it says.   _Have you seen the news?_

It's from Valerie, and he almost lets the phone fall and closes his eyes again.  He does let the phone fall, but a second later he picks it back up because that wasn't the only message.  She only harasses him about following the news a couple of times a year, and it's usually because of a case.

 _You and Dorian are all over the community pages,_ the next message says.

He stares at that one for longer, because what?  The hell does that mean?

The third message must be the one that woke him, but it's not from Valerie.  This one has Sandra's name on it, and it just says, _Don't talk to anyone until you hear from PR._

John sits up, already calling her back.  "What's going on?" he asks as soon as she picks up.  It sounds exactly as fuzzy and messed up as he feels, but she doesn't usually message him for the fun of it.

"Public Relations wants to talk to you."  Sandra doesn't bother with "hello" any more than he does.  "Apparently you created a stir by taking Dorian to the dance."

She doesn't say, _by dancing with him,_ so he's blindly hoping that's not the issue.  He wants to remind her that she suggested it, but that would be pretending that he didn't maneuver her into it in the first place, which they both know isn't true.  This is his fault--whatever it is--and she's taken more than her share of heat for him in the past.

"Okay," he says, rubbing a hand over his face.  "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," she says.  "I understand they'll be sending an updated press packet to all members of Delta Division by noontime today."

Great.  Whatever he's done, the whole department's going to know about it before Monday.  "Is this about him dancing?" John asks.  "Is that against the rules now, or what?"

"It's not about him dancing with you," Sandra says.  "If that's what you're asking.  At least not that I know of.  They didn’t tell me very much; they just called to confirm your standing in the division.”

“My standing?” John repeats.

“They wanted to make sure I’m not planning to fire you,” Sandra says.  “I don’t know, it’s media relations.  Maybe they want you to do some publicity.”

John snorts.  She should have fired him months ago--years, really.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I’m the face of the department.”

“Call me when you get the packet,” she says.

When he gets the packet, it calls him the face of the department.  Word for word, the phrase is actually printed on his screen, and his phone rings before he finishes reading.  He’s about to run the blender in the kitchen, but it’s Valerie so he picks up.

“Hey, John,” she says.  “Are you going?”

“Do I have a choice?” he counters.  They want to send him and Dorian to some conference gala--tonight--as a gesture of community involvement and police accessibility.  They say he was invited.  John finds that hard to believe.

“Probably not,” Valerie says.  “You want company?”

He can’t decide if it’s more important to ask who she plans to bring, or if the thing is even open to the public.  Knowing Valerie, it doesn’t really matter.  The phone chimes in his ear and he lowers it to read the screen.  “Sandra’s calling,” he says.  “Hang on.”

“John,” Sandra’s voice says, and he cuts her off.

“Val, too,” he says, in case she missed the group call notification.  “Why am I going to a gala?  Is this part of your formal event practice?  I didn’t even start anything this year.”

“It’s not me,” she says.  “And if you’re not careful, it won’t be you either.”

He raises an eyebrow, setting the phone down on the counter so he can look for the peanut butter.  “Great,” he says.  “Sign me up.  How do I make it not me?”

“You don’t,” Sandra says.  “The conference organizers invited you, probably after they heard about last night.  It’s a conference on android integration; did you know that?  You and Dorian could be their darlings.  Police PR will do everything they can to make sure you’re not invited back.”

“What about community involvement and accessibility?” Valerie asks.

“Dorian isn’t the bot they want the community to have access to,” Sandra says.  “He could raise a lot of uncomfortable questions.”

“Wait, what?” John says.  “Like what?”

“Like why were the DRNs decommissioned,” Sandra says.  “If he’s suited for police work, why weren’t they?  And if the MXs are so much better, why don’t you have one?”

“I did have one,” John says.  “It broke.”

“Should you even answer that question?” Valerie asks.  “It’s a party, not a press conference.  Just tell them you can’t talk about work.”

“This is work,” John complains.  “Why am I even doing this?”

“Because PR doesn’t like you very much,” Sandra says.  “But they must like this less.  They’re only sending you because they have to.  And because they think you’re going to screw it up.  They probably think if they agree this time, it won’t come up again.”

“And they can go back to pretending Dorian doesn’t exist,” Valerie says.

“Yes,” Sandra says, to his surprise.  “Dorian’s cleared as John’s partner on a medical exception.  His existence depends on John’s continued presence on the force.”

John doesn’t say anything.  Valerie doesn’t say anything.  In the silence, he decides to run the blender.  It seems like a better idea before he does it than it does while he’s doing it, when he realizes that he can’t hear them if they ask about it.

“Blender,” he says, counting on the phone to focus appropriately.  “Gimme a minute.”

He doesn’t say what he wants to say, which is, _who the hell turned Dorian off in the first place._  Or maybe, _why me, I’m one authority figure away from getting fired on a good day._ He definitely doesn’t say, _does this mean he needs another suit?_

Instead he turns the blender off and waits, to see if they were talking while he wasn’t listening.  Sandra’s last few words make it through: “--raise some eyebrows, anyway,” she says, and John doesn’t ask.

“So you’re saying the enemy of my enemy,” he begins, then gives up.  “Is the thing I should do?”

Valerie sounds amused when she says, “You had a whole minute to think about that, and that was the best you could come up with?”

“Don’t just do it,” Sandra says.  “Do it well.”

“Not really my strong point,” he reminds them.

“Dorian might be able to help,” Valerie says.  “At least with some of the social stuff.”

“Yeah,” John says, because the day he takes social cues from an android is the day he needs a new partner.  “Who’s telling Dorian about this, anyway?”

He meant, _did Dorian get a packet too,_ but the ringing silence makes him sigh.

“Right,” he says.  “I’ll go pick him up.”

The worst part of it is that he thinks about what he’s wearing before he gets in the car.  He shouldn’t.  It’s not a date.  It’s not like he’s asking Dorian out; they’re being ordered to do a publicity stunt by people who don't like either one of them.  Who cares what he wears?

If he changes his shirt before he leaves, it’s only because he didn’t expect to be going to work today.  He probably shouldn’t be seen around the precinct in his old World Cup Qatar shirt, which according to every woman in his life he shouldn’t still own, let alone wear.  The button-down he puts on instead just happens to be on top of the pile.

He calls Dorian before he gets there.  “Hey,” he says, and then follows it with “you busy?” for no reason that he can think of.

“Working,” Dorian answers.  “You?”

It’s almost small talk.  John glances over his shoulder for traffic he could see perfectly well in the mirror, and there’s nothing in his way.  “PR’s got an assignment for us,” he says.  “Some conference thing tonight.  Apparently we were invited specifically.”

Dorian’s curious about the conference.  Of course.  He looks it up when John won’t and interprets the agenda for him.  At least, that’s what John assumes he’s doing, and it’s more interesting than anything he would have been able to find about it anyway.  The thing’s just kicking off this weekend, and their “gala” is more of a welcoming ceremony than a seminar to set the tone.

“Boring,” John tells him anyway.

“Controversial,” Dorian replies.  “This is exactly the kind of thing you like to argue about, John.  Do robots have any social standing in the community?  Should they?  And if not all of them, then which ones?”

“I don’t argue about that,” John says.

“You disagree whenever someone suggests it,” Dorian says.  “Whether actively or passively, you make it clear that you want to be perceived as someone who accords robots no status.”

“I’m trying to merge, here,” John says.  He isn’t.  “Is this important?”

“Your actions, of course, say otherwise,” Dorian continues.  “It’s an interesting contradiction.  I’ll be curious to see your reaction to the conference.”

“We’re not going to the conference,” John grumbles.  “We’re going to the pre-conference party.”

“Which will include an opening statement and several introductory presentations,” Dorian says.  “All of the speakers are expected to be present, and if we’re there representing the department, it seems logical to conclude that some of them may be interested in talking with you.”

“Yeah, I hope not,” John says.  “Val says you can handle that part.”

“I’m almost done,” Dorian says.  “I’ll need two point six minutes and a replacement capacitor plate, standard series.”  He reels off a string of letters and numbers, and John almost asks what he’s talking about before he realizes it’s not directed at him.

When Dorian pauses, he asks, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning the showers,” Dorian says.

John doesn’t ask why.  He forgets sometimes that “factory duty” is even less glamorous than it sounds.  “I’m coming to pick you up,” he says instead.  “You want to meet me out front, or should I come get you?”

Dorian’s been pulled from factory duty the last three weekends in a row.  John isn’t sure when they start getting suspicious--if they ever start getting suspicious--or what kind of proof Dorian has to provide that he’s actually doing something else and not just slacking off.  If John has to write him a note, he will.

“I’ll meet you,” Dorian says.  He doesn’t ask why he needs to be picked up eight hours before the start of the gala, and John can’t blame him.  “Let me know when you get here.”

“I'm twelve minutes out,” John tells him.  “Clean fast.”

“Don’t throw anyone into traffic,” Dorian replies.

John still doesn’t know how Dorian found out what happened to his MX.  He’s known for a while, and he doesn’t hesitate to use the information to make his point: usually about self-discipline or anger management, which mostly backfires because John thinks it's funny instead of embarrassing.

For the first time, though, he doesn’t feel like smiling about it.


	4. Chapter 4

It only takes him ten minutes without commuter traffic.  He should probably call, say _hey I'm out front,_ or whatever.  He's not sure why he doesn't, except that he doesn't really think about it.  He's early, so he goes inside to find Dorian.

The factory elevators are creepy as ever.  They're designed for androids with no claustrophobia issues: single occupant and super fast.  They do at least register him as human and descend at a speed slightly slower than freefall.

Stepping out at the bottom doesn't improve things much.  The charging bays are designed and labeled for android eyes.  John only finds his way through rote memorization, and he feels vaguely foolish when he ends up in front of what used to be Dorian’s pod.  Of course he’s not there.

The MXs ignore him unless he gets in their way, so he can either stand in front of one of them until it can’t move without stepping around him, or he can call Dorian.  He calls Dorian.

“Hey,” John says, turning to let another MX pass.  “Where are you?”

“Where are you?” Dorian’s voice counters.  “I thought I was meeting you out front.”

“Got here early,” John admits.  “I’m downstairs.”

“I see,” Dorian says, and John can’t tell whether he’s amused or annoyed.  “I’m on my way.”

John looks up when he realizes the MX he’s been ignoring hasn’t moved on.  “Detective Kennex,” it says when he looks at it.  “Can I help you?”

“Just looking for my partner,” John says.

“DRN-0167 is currently engaged in maintenance activities,” the MX says.  “Perhaps I would be able to assist you.”

“No,” John says, eyeing him.  “I don’t think so.”

As an afterthought he adds, “Thank you,” but the MX still doesn’t move.

“I’m aware that DRN-0167 has been assisting you with casework on your days off,” the MX says.  “That work could be completed more quickly, requiring less of your designated down time, if you recruited a more capable synthetic.”

“No,” John repeats.  “It couldn’t.  Don’t you have something else to be doing?”

“Supporting the highest operating efficiency of the force, and Delta Division in particular, is my first priority,” the MX tells him.

Great, John thinks.  It knows him.  He has no idea which one this is, who it works with, despite the large white numbers that are supposed to solve this exact problem.  He’ll have to figure out who he has to threaten to make it stop harassing him.

“Detective Kennex.”  Apparently he can’t just ignore it.  “What do you require your partner’s assistance with today?  I think you’ll find that I--”

“No you won’t,” John interrupts, just as Dorian appears at the other end of the row.  His dark blue jacket is like a beacon in the unceasing conformity of black.  “Great, there you are.  We’ll be going now.”

“Hey, John.”  Dorian’s greeting is cheerful and a little cheeky despite how carefully he doesn’t look at the MX trying to talk to John.  “You didn’t have to come down here.”

“Yeah, my mistake,” John mutters, frowning at the MX.  “You ready?”

“Sure,” Dorian says.

“I do not advise this course of action,” the MX says.  “You are unnecessarily prolonging your working hours through the use of this inferior machine.”

“Well, no one asked you,” John snaps.  “Let’s go.”

“Technically true,” Dorian says, bumping John’s shoulder as he falls in beside him.  It’s deliberate, it has to be deliberate, and John doesn’t let himself smile.  “If you had an MX partner, they wouldn’t have invited you to this conference.”

“It’s not a conference,” John grumbles.

“It is a conference,” Dorian says, “and you’re an invited guest.  What are you wearing?  Is that why you’re here early?  Are we going shopping again?”

John scoffs.  “Why, you have that much fun with Valerie?  Can’t wait to do it again?”

“It was more enjoyable than cleaning showers,” Dorian says, and that’s enough to shut him up.

By the time they make it to the car, John’s talked himself into it.  Someone took pictures last night, right?  Dorian should at least be wearing a different shirt if they do it again tonight.  He drives, Dorian tells him too much about speakers he doesn’t care about, and by the middle of the afternoon Dorian has two new shirts and some less formal pants.

They get lunch.  Well, John gets lunch and Dorian pouts about having to leave his new clothes in the car.  John asks if Val let him carry his stuff everywhere they went when she took him out last Saturday, and he says yes.

Of course she did, John thinks.

Rudy isn’t in when they stop by to pick up Dorian’s jacket.  Dorian points out that if he’d been allowed to take his other clothes out of the car, he could change now and save John time later.  Or he could have until they discover that his jacket isn’t there.

“Rudy probably has it,” Dorian says.  “It’s a nice jacket.”

“It’s your jacket!”  John glares at the hanger, tucked behind the charger in the corner, where the rest of Dorian’s clothes from the dance are carefully hung.  His shoes are still there, and wow, shoes.  He didn’t even think of that.

“It’s your jacket,” Dorian says.  “You bought it.  Valerie picked it out.  Rudy’s storing it.  All of you have more claim to it than I do.”

“That’s ridiculous,” John says.  “We bought it for you; it’s yours.”

The argument gets him nowhere, especially considering that the jacket isn’t here.  He calls Rudy, who wisely doesn’t pick up, and leaves an irritated message.  Then he drives Dorian home, making him try on every jacket John owns--not a long process--and calls Sandra to complain.

“It’s Dorian’s jacket,” she agrees, then adds, “if he wants to loan it to Rudy, I don’t see the problem.”

“He doesn’t want to loan it to Rudy,” John says, then looks at Dorian.  “Right?  Do you want Rudy to borrow your stuff?”

“John,” Sandra says.  “I’m not the den mother.  If you have a professional issue with Dr. Lom, you should file a complaint.  If you have a personal problem with him, work it out on your own.”

“Oh, we’ll work it out,” John mutters.  “Are you going to this thing tonight?  You know a lot about it for someone who just saw an invitation this morning.”

“I’ll be there,” Sandra says, but she doesn’t say why.  Other than, “Someone has to make sure you don’t start a national incident.”

He almost starts a campus incident over the building they hold the welcoming party in.  It has more stairs out front than any public space that hasn’t been grandfathered in should be allowed.  It’s supposed to look grand, he gets that, and he hates it.

“We’re not even inside and you’re already having second thoughts?”  Dorian sounds light, amused, and John looks at him.  It makes his retort about accessibility die on his lips.

They’re early, it’s bright out, and Dorian made him eat again before they came.  So there’s no excuse for the erratic way he feels when he looks away from an imposingly old-fashioned building to the well-dressed man at his side.  The well-dressed, handsome, clearly concerned for him man who’s pausing to make sure John wants to go inside.

This is a date.  They’re on a date, whether he calls it that or not, and it’s not even their first one.  John’s dressing up and taking his partner to social events he doesn’t like, which is practically the definition of dating.  The same partner who dances too close and takes John’s advice on clothes and checks to make sure he’s okay when he hesitates.

Yeah, John thinks.  He’s too stunned by the revelation to be horrified, but he’s definitely having second thoughts.

“It’s the stairs,” Dorian says.  “Right?  There’s another entrance around the back.”  He doesn’t add, _there’s an incline_ or _there’s an elevator_ or _there’s fewer people watching,_ even though all of those things are probably true.

“No,” John says, before he realizes what he’s saying.  “I mean, yeah.  Let’s go.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows, but he walks with John in a way that makes it seem like they meant to do that.  Not like they’re avoiding the front steps because John dislikes them more than he actually has trouble with them.  Just like they’re not ready to go in yet, so they’re taking the long way around.

“Hey,” John says later, when he’s mostly fine and they’re waiting in the registration line for their badges.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Dorian says, but John thinks he hears the imperceptible hesitation that means Dorian has no idea what he’s done.  It makes John smile, and the line doesn’t seem so long after that.

The welcoming speech, on the other hand, is excruciating.  They’re seated at tables again, like last night, which is both better and worse than being crammed into an auditorium.  Better because there’s more space, and worse because they’re expected to socialize.  John decides to treat it like speed-dating, which at the very least makes it more entertaining.  At best, it has the potential to improve his pitch by the end of the evening.

Dorian mostly pays attention to the speaker.  Or at least, he looks like he’s paying attention to the speaker.  John catches several sideways glances, but Dorian’s expression is always one of curiosity, not reproof.  So he goes on chatting, whispering with anyone who says hi or introduces themselves, whether it’s during talks or during the transitions.

There are multiple talks.  Of course there are.  Dorian did warn him, John thinks.  Where’s Sandra, anyway?  She’s not preventing him from causing an incident by being invisible.

When they’re finally released from the endless monotony of people talking, John’s tempted to ask Dorian if he missed anything interesting.  He doesn’t, because he knows there’s more to come, even if it’s one-on-one instead of to the whole crowd at once.  The joke will be funnier at the end of the evening anyway.

He’s taken by surprise when Dorian leans over and whispers, “Are you speed-dating?”

John turns without thinking, looking right at him and Dorian’s only inches away.  That was an actual whisper.  John wasn’t expecting quite so much… social realism.  “What?” he manages.

He doesn’t manage to pull away, which turns out to be a mistake.  Dorian smiles at him, and it’s like the steps outside all over again.  Like he’s attending this pretentious conference with a guy who’s actually interested, because John likes him more than he hates sitting still, and suddenly they’re the awkward couple who can’t decide whether to hold hands or kiss.

“The thing you do with witnesses,” Dorian says, very quietly.  “When you try all the angles to see which one gets you a second look?”

“We’re supposed to make friends,” John mutters.  “I’m making friends.”

He doesn’t want to kiss Dorian.  Obviously.  They’re not here because Dorian wants to be; they’re here because they were ordered to be.  If he thinks it’s a damn shame that the only extracurriculars Dorian gets are stiff, department-mandated appearances to satisfy the political activists and gossip bloggers, that’s only because it means John’s stuck doing this stuff with him.

He finally escapes to get a drink, and he almost trips over Sandra on his way between the tables.  He means to complain to her, but what comes out instead is some inane comment about Dorian and how he seems to be enjoying himself.  He immediately regrets opening his mouth.  Sandra doesn’t look surprised, though, just nods and asks him about work, so he tries not to think about it.

John blames her for his reaction later, when Dorian tells him that he’s agreed to help a grad student with her research.  Sandra didn’t think it was weird, after all: not what they’re doing or how John’s acting.  Maybe that means it looks more normal than it feels.

When he says sure, great, sounds like a good way to get out of factory duty, Dorian looks surprised and happy.  John realizes too late that he didn’t ask to be released from work for this research, whatever it is.  But he should be, right?  It probably counts as community service or something.

He doesn’t bother to check.  Not with Dorian, and not with Sandra either.  Sometimes ignorance is the best defense.


	5. Chapter 5

John isn’t woken up by texts Sunday morning.  He doesn’t check the news.  Not because he doesn’t want to know--he does feel a sort of morbid curiosity about where this is going--but because he wouldn’t know where to start.  So in the absence of alarming phone calls from the department or new instructions from Dorian, he’s on his way to Rudy’s by ten.

Rudy and Dorian are working on a project John doesn’t recognize or want to identify when he gets there.  He opens his mouth to complain when he remembers Dorian saying, _“It’s better than cleaning showers,”_ and he thinks better of it.

He thinks a lot better of it.  “Hey,” John says.  “You live here, right?  Why are you doing factory maintenance on the weekends?”

“Because androids don’t require time off,” Dorian says.  He hasn’t moved, though he caught John’s eye when he came in, which is more than Rudy did.

“Yeah, but why are you working there?” John asks.  “If factory upkeep is the price of maintenance, why don’t you work here?  I’m sure Rudy could use the help.”

Rudy doesn’t look up.  “As much as I discourage people from attempting to rearrange my staff without my input, I certainly wouldn’t turn down skilled labor from someone as congenial as Dorian.”

John raises his eyebrows at Dorian, who just stares back at him until John makes a _well?_ gesture with his hands.  Dorian nods once, quickly, like why would John even ask.  John doesn’t want to smile at that expression but he does.  Because he’s a sucker.

“I’ll talk to the captain,” he mutters.  “Are we going, or what?”

They don’t go until Rudy tells them they can go.  Which is fine, hey, it’s not like John had anything else to do today: groceries, laundry, relaxing like a normal person.  He retaliates by picking a fight over the jacket, which gets him a reproachful look from Dorian and utter confusion from Rudy.  He has no idea how Rudy can go from “it’s rude to call a bot crazy” to “I’ll just take his stuff because it’s not really his anyway” without getting whiplash.

“If it bothers you so much,” Dorian tells him later in the car, “you can keep the clothes at your place.  I don’t have anywhere to put them anyway.”

There’s no safe way to answer that, so John just grunts something that’s meant to be disagreeable.  He’s not storing Dorian’s stuff at his place.  He doesn’t even want to talk about it.  With Rudy, maybe.  Not with Dorian.

So he asks, for the third time, why they’re meeting Dorian’s grad student at an amusement park, and Dorian tells him.  Again.  It doesn’t make any more sense this time, no matter how often he repeats it, but it’s a distraction so John goes with it.

The drive is too long and the parking is bad, even on a Sunday morning.  Somehow John’s more relaxed when they get there than he was when they left.  He doesn’t look too closely at why.  Driving is relaxing.  Obviously.  He didn’t always think so, but people change, right?

He’s changed enough that he pays for himself, three students, and a lab bot to get into an amusement park.  There’s actually three bots, including Dorian, but the girl at the ticket counter tells him security bots and nanny bots are free.  He doesn’t argue.  He does poke Dorian and mutter, “Which one are you?”  And he tells the grad student who tries to protest that she has grant funding to let it go.

“Seriously,” John says when she doesn’t.  “You know how often I get to take this guy somewhere fun?  Never.  Thanks for the excuse.  Now let me pay.”

He’s already paid, but the argument seems to work.  She pays for all of their social experiments, anyway, so he thinks he comes out ahead.  As many times as it takes her to send each of the bots to a food vendor, a toy vendor, a game booth, and a VR sim, he wonders what kind of grant she has, anyway.  She and her friends go too, separately, with a lot of video blogging before and after.  Maybe that counts as documentation these days; John doesn’t know.

He can’t help watching what happens: Dorian is the only bot who isn’t turned away from any of the booths, and John figures it’s because the standard issue police DRN uniform is so recognizable.  The other two bots are turned away from the game booth, and the nanny bot is hassled at the VR sim.  Dorian, on the other hand, is hassled at both the food and toy vendors.  He’s the only one.

“They’re treating him differently because of the uniform,” one of the grad students says, and John’s torn between _no shit_ and _he’s standing right here._  It’s not like he’s never talked over Dorian’s head before, but it annoys him when other people do it.

“They’d still recognize him without it,” the third student says.  “Everyone knows what police bots look like.”

Yeah, John thought that too.  Two days ago.

“Hey, can we go?” he asks loudly.

“Oh!”  Dorian’s grad student looks up.  “Yes!  Of course.  Thank you so much for your help, really.  It was so invaluable.”

“It was our pleasure,” Dorian tells her with a smile.

John turns away and rolls his eyes, muttering, “So invaluable.”  When Dorian joins him he adds, “So, we’re here.  Any rides you like?”

“By most accounts,” Dorian replies immediately, “the Derecho is very popular.  Or the Viper, if you prefer roller coasters.”  It’s like he saw this coming.

“Yeah, and what do you prefer?” John counters.  “Are they all boring for you?”

“I have no firsthand experience on which to base an opinion,” Dorian says.

“That’s what we’re trying to change,” John says.  He nods to one side, and they put some distance between them and the group of grad students.  “Pick one, or I’m picking for you.”

“Dirty Twister,” Dorian says.  There’s no hesitation, and John wonders if he thought about it at all.  He also wonders if it’s as bad as it sounds.

“That a ride?”  He thinks it’s worth it to check, even with Dorian smirking at him the second he asks.  “Because if it’s a game, amusement parks have gotten a lot more interesting since I was a kid.”

“It’s a ride,” Dorian says.  “Dual occupant spinning booths with rudimentary VR.  Very popular with the teenagers.”

“And the bots,” John says pointedly.  “Great.  You know people are gonna take pictures of us in line for this ride, right?”

The look Dorian gives him is somewhere between incredulous and pitying.  “John, there are pictures of you dancing with me on every gossip blog from here to Seattle.  What is it about a spinning amusement park ride that you think will be worse?”

“The name,” John mutters.

“So don’t stop next to the sign,” Dorian says.  “We don’t have to go at all if you don’t want to.”

“No, let’s go,” John grumbles.  He has no idea where they’re going, but he’d bet they’re already walking in the right direction.  “Why the Dirty Twister, anyway?”

“Other than the name?” Dorian says.

John rolls his eyes.  “Yes, other than the name.”

Weirdly, this is the question Dorian waits too long to answer.  When John looks at him, eyebrows raised, Dorian says, “Can I tell you after we go on it?”

“Will you need to?” John counters, amused in spite of himself.  It must be cool if Dorian thinks one ride is all it will take.

“I don’t know,” Dorian says, and it probably doesn’t mean anything but John gives him a suspicious look.

“Wait,” he says.  “Am I going to hate this ride?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian says again, and this time it’s definitely weird.

John goes with him anyway.  He hasn’t forgotten the experiments, though, and maybe it’s rude to ask but Dorian was the one who brought it up yesterday.  He didn’t say he liked shopping, exactly, but he sure seemed enthusiastic about the clothes.

So when they pass another park vendor he asks, “Hey, you want a t-shirt?”

He’s not sure what he expects.  For Dorian to laugh, maybe.  Why would he want a park t-shirt?  Or for him to get all offended: _you don’t have to buy me things, John._  Who knows.  He feels stupid even before he asks the question.

But Dorian’s eyes light up, and the expression he gives John says _Really?_ plain as day.

John clears his throat.  “I mean, I’m gonna get one,” he mutters.  “So, if you want one.”

Dorian is more choosy about his t-shirt than he was about anything he tried on for the gala yesterday.  John takes the darkest one they have, black with the park lights at night and the words “After Dark” under the name.  Dorian waffles between dark red and purple until John is tempted to buy them both just to get them away from the booth.  Dorian puts the purple one back before he can actually do it.

He pushes Dorian into the nearest restroom to change, then figures what the hell.  It’s not like he’s gonna wear it anywhere else, right?  So John puts on his own t-shirt, makes a face when he sees it in the mirror, then decides it’s totally worth it when Dorian comes out looking like an excited kid.  A grown-up, really good-looking excited kid.

“Thanks, man,” Dorian says, grinning at their reflections in the mirror.  “I appreciate this.”

John thinks he should roll his eyes, grumble something about overpriced advertising gimmicks, and he tries but he ends up smiling through it and adding, “At least it’s better than black tie and stuffy food.”

They get fewer weird looks after that.  John’s not the only one who expects police bots to wear police uniforms, apparently.  No uniform, no second look.  Mostly.  He still catches the occasional double take, but they probably look like the oldest teenage couple--or the youngest senior citizens--in the park with their matching shirts.

It doesn’t help that they get in line for the Dirty Twister, of course.  John eyes the ride from the ground, decides that it doesn’t look awful, and glares at anyone who looks their way while Dorian talks about the park’s safety record.  John turns his glare on him when Dorian starts describing historic amusement park accidents, which is admittedly hilarious in context but probably cause for park eviction if other people complain.

They’re lucky the line is so short.  He gets why when they’re hurried on and each of the ride’s independently spinning booths is filled with two people instead of one.  They have to stand directly opposite each other, a couple feet of space between them at the most, and a VR bubble rises up around them while they wait.

“Okay, why aren’t there any restraints?” John wants to know.  There are handles at shoulder level on either side, and that’s it.  “Doesn’t this thing turn on its side?”

“The force of the spin keeps riders in place,” Dorian says.  “You can hold on if you want to.”

“Uh-huh.”  John doesn’t have a problem with spinning, speed, or heights.  He does have a problem with standing this close to Dorian with nothing else to look at.  He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the other booths, but he can’t see into any of them and even the line is invisible from here.  It contributes to the illusion that they’re alone.

“Are you scared, John?”  Dorian looks amused, and the challenge is almost enough to distract him.

“No,” John scoffs.  If he knew what denying it would mean, he might have reconsidered.

“Your vitals are elevated,” Dorian tells him.  “If you’re not afraid, are you excited?”

“By a cheap thrill in a tourist trap?”  John stares past him at the bubble, shimmering as the metal deck beneath their feet shakes once and starts to rise.  Something’s locked in, and the booth starts to turn lazily.

“Or by me,” Dorian says.

John’s staring at him.  It’s hard not to; he’s right there.  “What did you say?”

The handles next to them light up even as the bubble goes dark, stars blinking on, spinning through the VR environment.  Blue sparkles across the side of Dorian’s face, bright and vibrant in the simulated night.  “The correlation between increased physical arousal and your awareness of my presence is close to seventy percent.”

Of course Dorian would notice.  He’s a walking biosensor.

“Maybe you annoy me,” John says, louder over the whistle of air and the hum of machinery.  As promised, he’s being pushed back against the wall.  “Ever think of that?”

“Frequently,” Dorian says.  “Every time you mention it, I consider the possibility.  Then I dismiss it.  Because I understand that actions speak louder than words.”

“It’s not arousal,” John tells him.  The booth is starting to tilt, and all he knows of gravity is what he can feel pressed against his back.  “It’s agitation.”

There are fireworks in the stars now, a virtual lightshow to match the picture on Dorian’s shirt.  The centrifugal pressure holds him steady while the world spins, and he’s glad he can’t move when Dorian says, “I prefer to think it’s because you like me and you enjoy being in my company.”

“Oh, you prefer that, do you?”  It’s defensive, automatic, but as he repeats it he realizes what it means.  “Wait, you do?”

“Have you considered acting on it?” Dorian asks.

John grabs for a handle when the deck vibrates again, and he thinks maybe the ride is perpendicular to the ground now.  It does that, he saw it tip all the way over from the outside, but from the inside all he can see is shooting stars and the glitter glinting on Dorian’s shirt.  His arms are heavy, and it’s harder to hold onto the handles than it is to just stand there and stare.

“No,” he says.

“I have,” Dorian says.

“You have what?”  John has no idea what’s happening, if they’re even talking about the same thing.  The last thing he wants is to screw up everything because he got this conversation wrong.

“I’ve thought about kissing you,” Dorian says.  “I’m not very practiced with intimacy, but sometimes when I’m with you I wish I were.  I wish I knew how to tell you in a way that’s courteous and respectful.  Sometimes I wish I could just push you up against a wall and try it, but I haven’t been able to predict your reaction with any degree of certainty.”

John is straining to hear him over the sound of the ride.  He can barely see Dorian in the dark and swirling lights.  “Why are we having this conversation here?” he wants to know.

“Because it’s harder to walk away from,” Dorian says.  “Because I wanted to observe your response over the course of minutes, rather than seconds.  And because if you ditch me here, I can secure public transportation back to the precinct and give you a day to calm down before we have to work together again.”

“So,” John says, because wow.  That deserves some kind of answer, even if he has no idea what it is.  “You’ve thought about this.”

Dorian doesn’t move either, even though John’s sure he could if he wanted to.  “That’s what I said,” he agrees.

“I haven’t,” John says.  It’s only partly a lie.

Dorian doesn’t sound disappointed when he says, “You have a minute and forty-eight seconds left.”


	6. Chapter 6

It only takes five seconds before it feels awkward.  Weird.  More awkward, maybe, since it was already pretty damned uncomfortable.  But ignoring it will be worse, John can see that, and he's not going to lie.  Much.

"It's not that I'm against it, exactly," he says, too loud over the noise and the music.  He thinks better of it as soon as he hears how it sounds.  "I'm not against it," he says again.  "Okay?  But there must be rules, or something.  Are there rules?"

He doesn't even have to see Dorian's expression in the flickering dark to know he's getting a look of disbelief.  "Do you care?" Dorian asks.

"If it could get you in trouble?"  What kind of a jerk does he think John is?  "Yeah, I care."

For just a moment, the spin of the bubble and the spin of the booth match.  The stars must be moving at the same speed, in the same direction they're going, because for a second it feels like nothing moves at all.  It's loud but it looks still.

"There aren't rules," Dorian is saying.  "Not beyond the ones that govern all android partnerships.  Excessively personal android-human relationships bear more social stigma than their human counterparts, of course, but you haven't seemed particularly worried about that these past few days."

There's something about the words that John should pay attention to.  Maybe more than one thing.  But he gets stuck on _there aren't any rules_ and then he hears _these past few days_ and he pretty much misses everything in between.

"You know there's a code," he says, when he realizes Dorian isn't talking anymore.  The light is still weird, but it feels like the world might not be tipping as much as it was before.  "A partner code.  You don't fuck anyone you're assigned to."

It's a terrible thing to say for so many reasons.  He knows "fuck" is out of line as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but he doesn't realize how wrong the rest of it is until Dorian doesn't answer.  Dorian will never be assigned to anyone else.  His reactivation is a fluke, an exception, a thing that could be taken away at any moment.

If John goes, Dorian goes.  There's nothing after them for Dorian.

"Is this one of those codes that only you follow?" Dorian asks at last.  He sounds knowing in a way that makes John glare at him, no matter how stupid it is.

"No," John tells him.  "It's a real thing.  At least it was, back when we still had human partners."

"What about Wilkens and Esposito?" Dorian asks.

"They're married," John says.  "And they make terrible choices.  Don't use them as a model.  For anything."

“We don’t have to fuck,” Dorian says.  He’s calm, ignoring John’s wince at the word, or maybe filing it away for next time.  “I think I’d enjoy being closer to you, that’s all.  If it's something you're interested in.”

“Uh-huh,” John says, because Dorian trapped him on an amusement park ride to proposition him.  That’s really… kind of cool, actually.  “I get it.”

“I understand that that’s not the right way to ask you,” Dorian adds.  He sounds suspicious of John's acceptance, even over the clang of metal and carnival sounds.  “But I don’t know a better one.”

"It's not bad," John says.  He wouldn't have had the guts to do it at all.  "Better than I could do, probably."  

"Did it hurt you to admit that?" Dorian asks.

"I'll hurt you," John tells him, and he knows what he's set himself up for even before Dorian smirks.

"If that's what you're into," Dorian says. "I'd be willing to discuss it."

The fireworks are back, brighter than before, but the ride is slowing down.  He’s sure he can feel the pressure lessening.  As it gets easier to move he feels vaguely more vertical, too.  Like they’ve been tipped back up before they started to slow.

“You’re sure they can’t actually fire us for this,” John says.  He needs the reassurance for Dorian more than for himself.  It’s a bad idea, and he knows it, but he doesn’t have many good ideas these days.

Besides, it was Dorian’s idea.  If anyone can weigh the consequences, it should be him, right?

“Not legally,” Dorian says.  “I can’t make any guarantees about department politics, though.  If they want you gone, they’ll find a way.  If you don’t want this on your record then I’ll understand.”

“Me?”  John stares at him as the darkness lightens rapidly, fireworks washing out the artificial sky until daylight shows through again.  “I’m not the one they’ll turn off.”

The booth is still turning slowly.  Not enough to press them back, but Dorian doesn’t move and his expression is one John doesn’t know how to interpret.  “They’ll turn me off anyway,” he says.  “Technology changes constantly, and new models come out every year.  I don’t know how long you’ll be allowed to have a DRN.  I do know there are things I don’t want to miss while I have the chance.”

John feels a lurch when the movement stops, even though the spin feels slower toward the end than it did at the start.  “Great,” he makes himself say.  “The old, ‘we’re gonna die so what the hell’ argument.  I’ve used that one too.”

Dorian doesn’t look upset.  “Did it work?” he asks.  He mostly sounds amused.

“Yeah,” John says.  Dorian looks calm, but he’s basically human, right?  He’s not fine with it.  He’s just making the best of a bad situation.  “It’s a good argument.”

Dorian smiles as the VR bubble shimmers away around them.  “You know, this ride was better than I expected.”

“Better than you--”  John stops, starts again without thinking.  “Wait, what did you expect?”  Then he realizes that knowing is probably the last thing he wants.  “Never mind.  Don’t answer that.”

Someone’s coming by to look in, to usher them off the ride, and John almost tells them to keep walking.  He doesn’t, because it would cause a scene even if he pulled his badge--especially if he pulled his badge--but he thinks about it.  He thinks about it again when Dorian bumps his shoulder on the way out, crowds him at the bottom of the ramp, and doesn’t looks away innocently when John glares at him.

“Where to now?” Dorian asks, and there.  That’s the innocent look John was waiting for.

“We’re not leaving here without going on a roller coaster,” John tells him.

So they ride the Viper too, and if Dorian stands too close to him in line, well.  It’s a crowded line.  At least a dozen other people bump into him while they’re waiting, and he doesn’t know any of them half as well as he knows Dorian.

Dorian makes him get the track picture of the two of them afterwards.  John doesn’t know why he has to pay for it when Dorian could just steal it, except that complaining will mean a lecture on upholding the public trust.  He also doesn’t know why he has to pay for it when it’s a stupid picture to begin with, so he makes Dorian carry the vendor bags with their clothes inside while he gets cotton candy.  Everyone knows you need both hands free to eat cotton candy.

John’s halfway done and they’re wandering in the general direction of the exit when his phone rings.  He looks at his sugar-covered hands and considers not answering.  “What are the chances I’m going to care about this call?” he asks aloud.

“Not high,” Dorian says, sidling closer and putting his hand in John’s pocket.  “Which distinguishes it from none of the other calls you receive.”

He takes John’s phone before John even realizes what he’s doing and lifts it up.  “Kennex,” he says, in John’s voice.  John glares at him, but Dorian gazes off into the distance and adds, “Yeah, just a minute.

“It’s Sandra,” he says, offering the phone to John.  Hopefully muted.  “She knows where we are.  She doesn’t sound happy.”

John wipes one hand off on his pants and takes the phone gingerly.  It lights up active again when he touches it.  “Sorry,” he says.  “Hands were full.”

“John, I have every name in Delta on news alert and PR still got to me before you did,” she says.  “Why is Dorian at an amusement park?”

“Uh, student research?” John says.  “He met an anthro grad student at the thing last night, Mika Kidisti?  She’s doing her dissertation on the social response to synthetic integration.  Dorian offered to help her.”

There’s a brief silence from the phone.  He catches Dorian’s surprised look before it smooths over and John smirks.  Dorian raises his eyebrows, but John gets a small smile in return: a concession, he thinks, to the fact that Dorian actually believed he wasn’t paying attention.

“You didn’t clear that with the department,” Sandra says at last.

“Didn’t know I needed permission for community service in my off hours,” John says.

“Dorian does.”  Sandra sounds as prickly as he feels.  “Department cars are authorized 24-hour protection for all street enforcement; department synthetics are not.  You can’t just kidnap Dorian whenever you feel like it.”  

“Look,” John says, “I’m sorry I didn’t check in, okay?  We were sent to that party to make friends.  We made friends.  We’re just doing our jobs, here.”

Sandra doesn’t sound impressed when she says, “This isn’t what PR meant by accessibility, John.”

“Well, maybe they should have been more clear,” he tells her.  “If you need me to do something, tell me what it is.”

“I need you to not give the department a reason to shut Dorian down,” she says.  “The conference wants you back; did you know that?  They’ve extended an official invitation to all of Delta Division.  You did good work last night.  Don’t give Finance a reason to take it all away.”

“Finance,” John says.  It’s all he’s got in the face of a threat he doesn’t want to hear.  “What do they care?”

“Dorian’s police property,” Sandra reminds him.  He opens his mouth, but it’s nothing he hasn’t said before about other bots.  “His purchase price and upkeep aren’t funded so he can ride the Ferris Wheel at the local park.”

“It’s not a joyride,” John snaps.  “He’s here on business.  What else do you want?”

He hears Sandra sigh.  “John.”

Nothing good is going to come after that, and there’s nothing he can say.  He hangs up and stuffs the phone back in his pocket.  “Call your grad student,” he tells Dorian, tossing the rest of the cotton candy away.

Dorian isn’t smiling anymore.  “You’re in trouble,” he says.  It’s the first time he’s acknowledged--aloud, at least, with anything more than a grateful look--that John gets it for any of the stupid shit Dorian does.  “Because of me.”

“We’re in trouble,” John corrects.  Dorian covers for him just as often as he does it for Dorian.  “Want to make it worse?”

Dorian frowns.  “What do you have in mind?”

“Did you call Mika?” John asks.  “I’m gonna ask someone to take our picture.  Thought she might be interested.  Isn’t this the kind of thing she studies?  People’s reactions to bots doing human things?”

His phone rings again, and he ignores it.  Dorian doesn’t look convinced, but he says, “She’s in the gift shop.  She’ll meet us here in a minute.”

“Great,” John says.  “Should we stand in front of the sign?  We should stand in front of the sign.  Come on.”  The park is either going to appreciate the free advertising, or ban them forever.  John’s tired of being the middle ground anyway.

“Sandra’s calling,” Dorian says.  “She says I should tell you not to do anything stupid.”

“Tell her I’m having our picture taken,” John says.  “It’s for science.”

“She doesn’t think that’s a good idea,” Dorian replies almost immediately.

“Join the club,” John mutters.

“Why are we doing it if you don’t think it’s a good idea?” Dorian wants to know.

John laughs, and it surprises him but he kind of enjoys it anyway.  “If I only did things I thought were good ideas,” he says, “I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

When Dorian doesn’t look reassured, he adds, “No one at that conference yesterday thought we were friends.  You know that, right?  Val tried to warn me on Friday, but I didn’t get it until last night.  Everyone who sees us dressed up together assumes we’re… you know.  Together.”

“I thought that was one possible conclusion,” Dorian says carefully.  “Certainly one that some people would draw.”

“And PR sent us anyway,” John says.  “Why?”

“Hi, hey,” Mika says, breathless as she stops beside them and hitches a bag up over her shoulder.  “Wow, you look great in that shirt.  Do you notice any difference in the way people respond to you with it?  Can I interview you about it?”

“I want to do a social experiment,” John says.

She wasn’t talking to him, but she looks at him and nods quickly.  “Yeah, sure, what is it?  Can I video you?”

“I’m going to ask someone to take our picture,” John tells her.

She brightens in the way only a researcher would.  “Great!  That’s a good idea; let me get out of your way.  I’ll be over there, okay?”

“Sure,” John says.  He’s already pulling out his phone, because people are more helpful if they see you try to do it yourself.  “C’mere,” he tells Dorian.  “Smile.”

Dorian leans in, but he doesn’t wait for John to take a picture.  “Why do you think Public Relations wanted us to attend the gala?”

“Smile,” John says again.

Dorian does, so he takes the picture.  “Because if you act like a bot,” John says, then thinks better of it.  “Not a bot, a, you know.  Synthetic.  A servant, or whatever.”  He feels Dorian look at him, so he takes another picture.  “If you act like that, and I treat you like that, then no one’s going to think we’re dating.”

“Give me your phone,” Dorian says, reaching out to pluck it from his fingers.

“Then PR gets what it wants,” John tells him.  “Us, out in public, looking like a standard police partnership.  Nothing to see here.”

“They thought that’s what would happen last night,” Dorian guesses.  “Smile.”

John grimaces at the phone.  “Yeah, maybe.”

“Based on what?” Dorian asks.  “The fact that you can’t watch me dance with someone else for more than five minutes without cutting in?”

John shrugs.  “I guess they don’t know me very well.”

He takes the phone from Dorian and steps away, picking a woman with no children who doesn’t look like she’s in a hurry.  “Uh, excuse me,” he says, smiling with embarrassment that’s not at all faked.  He makes sure she can see him coming and he holds up his phone as an explanation.  “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”

“Of course.”  She smiles back at him as he hands it over.  “You want one in front of the sign?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”  John’s backing up, stopping when he feels Dorian’s hand on his shoulder.  “Could you, uh, take a couple for us?”

“Sure,” she says.  “No problem.”

Dorian’s shorter, so John puts an arm over his shoulders.  Dorian is motionless, his hand still resting on John’s back, and that’s when he realizes Dorian probably has no idea what they’re supposed to do.  “Put your arm around my waist,” he whispers.

“That’s great!” the woman with his phone calls.  “Here, I’ll just get one from farther back!”

She takes a few steps back, tilting the phone upright for a long shot, and John smiles when he feels Dorian’s hand on his hip.  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmurs.

Dorian’s voice is just as quiet when he replies, “That might not be a good idea.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  John brushes his lips against Dorian’s temple, and he grins when Dorian turns to him in surprise.  It’s not what he was going for, but he’ll take it.  “You gonna kiss me, or what?”

Dorian tips his head, and it could be surprise or it could be an invitation.  John takes it as an invitation.  He barely registers the feeling of Dorian’s mouth before he pulls away.  It’s kind of a dick move, taking advantage of someone in front of an audience, but Dorian’s never been reluctant to embarrass him before.  All he has to do is step away.

Instead Dorian smiles at him, amused and maybe a little fond.  “Is that the picture you wanted?”

They still have their arms around each other, and John looks away to hide his own smile.  "Yeah," he says, waving his thanks to their photographer when she starts to come back.  “One of 'em.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dorian's grad student wants to interview both of them after that.  John agrees because he figures she can give them some cover if the department makes a fuss about Dorian's extracurricular activities.  Dorian agrees because he's a nice guy.

He's such a nice guy that he doesn't ask where they're going when they finally leave the park.  It makes John feel like more of a jerk for taking him back to Rudy's, but it's already not the factory and they're probably in enough trouble as it is.  Since he stopped taking Sandra's calls, he can't be sure.  He's not going to risk it either way.

Rudy isn't in the lab when they get there.  It's John's turn not to ask when Dorian mentions the back room.  There's a couple of recliners and a screen shoved back behind the piles of crates and spare parts, and if John ignores the inherent creepiness of a space surrounded by deactivated bot bodies, it's not the worst.

Well.  It's kind of the worst.  It drives home the fact that Dorian doesn't have anything of his own: not a place, not a room, not even someone else's couch.  And he's a bot, right, they're not supposed to need things.  But how do you make something, someone, "as human as possible" and then tell them they're a machine and they should be able to do without?

"If you're uncomfortable," Dorian begins, and John cuts him off.

"Are there cameras back here?"

"Yes," Dorian says.  "But they're off.  I've overridden the remote activation."

"Yeah?" John wants to smile, but he can't make it happen.  "How often do you do that?"

"Not very," Dorian says evasively.  "Why are you here, John?"

It feels like a test, and he's surprised at how easily the answer comes to him.  "Because you said you wanted to kiss me on a ride where I literally couldn't move," John says, "and we haven't been alone since."

"Can I kiss you now?" Dorian asks.

"If you don't, this date is gonna be a total letdown."  John means it as a joke, something to say to cover the awkwardness, but it comes out wrong and he wishes he'd stuck with "yeah."

Dorian is looking at him more warily than before.  "Does the quality of the time we spend together depend on our level of physical interaction?"

"No," John says quickly, because he's not stupid.  "Obviously.  I just meant, yeah, I want you to kiss me."

"What if I'm not good at it?" Dorian wants to know.

"Since when are you not good at anything?" John retorts, and it's still the wrong thing to say.  Because this is the part of relationships that he's bad at.  Along with all the other parts.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," Dorian says.  "I like being your friend.  It might not be wise to risk that on something I have no idea how to do."

Great, John thinks.  Now he thinks of that.  "You know, it's fun to hear you doubt yourself," John says, eyeing him.  "I don't know if it makes me feel less worried for humanity, or more worried for robot-kind."

Dorian frowns at him.  "What do you mean?"

John is already moving, in his personal space and smirking when Dorian starts to look interested.  "I'm going to kiss you," John tells him.  "If you don't like it--any of it--just stop me.  Okay?"

"Can I push you against a wall?" Dorian asks, surprising him.

"Later," John says.  He doesn’t hate the idea.  He thinks he likes it too much for them to try it and get it wrong.  "First things first."

He kisses Dorian.  It should be weird.  He expects it to be weird, and he lingers, waiting for the strangeness to register.  At the park he'd moved so fast he didn't have time to notice anything, and it was only partly because he didn't want to be accused of public indecency.  Mostly he didn't want anyone watching him try not to flinch.

There's nothing to flinch about.  It's weird that it isn't weird, but Dorian's mouth feels... basically human.  He's not cold or stiff or dry.  His skin is smooth, and maybe that's the strangest thing.

He wants to touch Dorian’s face, but you don’t do that without warning someone, so John puts a hand on his shoulder first.  It feels like a normal shoulder, and he should know that, right?  He smacks Dorian on the shoulder all the time and it doesn’t feel any different than anyone else.

Usually it’s through his coat, or at least a long-sleeved shirt.  The t-shirt is lighter.  John can feel everything but skin: the jut of bone and the swell of muscle, or whatever passes for it.  If he admits it, though, he has his hands on Dorian a lot more than just getting his attention would warrant.  John knows he feels human.  He wants to know how deep that illusion goes.

He lets his other hand rest on Dorian’s neck, sliding up to cup his cheek when there’s no sign of protest.  Dorian is careful, gentle, not touching him but unmistakably kissing back.  His jaw is just as smooth as his neck, and John is struck by the urge to kiss more than his mouth.  He doesn’t, because that’s rude.  It’s not a first kiss kind of move.

But he wants to.  There’s a lot of Dorian that he’d like to touch right now, and not only with his hands.  John wants to kiss his cheek, nuzzle his temple, smell his hair and suck on his earlobe.  He’d like to scrape his teeth across Dorian’s neck and see what happens.  Hell, he’d like to pull on the collar of that t-shirt and see if he can find the seam in skin that he knows is there.  With his tongue.

It’s possible that thinking about all the places he isn’t kissing makes him bolder with the one he is.  It’s also possible that he’s being turned on by a robot, which is nowhere near as uncomfortable as he would have guessed.  He’s licking his way into Dorian’s mouth, pushing harder than he should, and he hums in approval when Dorian pushes back.

Dorian’s hands are on his hips, and he didn’t even notice until now.  Until one of them slips, pressed against his waistband and then warm on his skin when his shirt rides up.  Like an accident, like Dorian shifted to get his balance back and his fingers just happened to end up under John’s clothes.

John tries not to grin, but what starts as a gasp turns into a laugh and he goes for Dorian’s mouth again to keep him from pulling away.  "Cute," he mutters.  Like Dorian needs better balance.

"I was going for hot," Dorian says.  His voice is quiet, muffled by John's attempts to keep him kissing.  He doesn't sound disappointed, though.  He sounds almost flirty when he adds, "Should I try harder?"

“Uh-uhm.”  John thinks it comes across as a negative, even with the way he’s letting Dorian’s tongue do whatever it wants.  He’s having enough trouble breathing as it is.  He doesn’t need Dorian to try _harder_.

Then Dorian whispers, “Can I push you against a wall now?”

John groans, and he tries to pull away because that’s just embarrassing, but Dorian doesn’t let go.  John can’t move, and he doesn’t know if that’s more embarrassing or not.  “Lemme go,” he mumbles.

Dorian’s grip loosens immediately.  His hands fall and he draws back, easy and gentle but definite.  So definite that John’s cupping the back of his head before he knows what he’s doing, trying to keep him from stepping back.  “Hang on,” he says, resting his forehead against Dorian’s.  “That was--”

He’s trying to catch his breath, but it’s a lost cause.  There’s no way he can match a robot for sheer calm in the face of lust.  Or… whatever.

“That was me being embarrassed,” John says under his breath.  The face too close to his is blurry when he forces himself to look, but he’s pretty sure Dorian’s mouth is open.  Why?  He doesn’t need to breathe.

“Not,” John adds, “not… complaining.”

Dorian doesn’t say anything, and John can’t tell if he’s upset, embarrassed, or afraid of saying something wrong.  Maybe he’s just waiting.  John didn’t answer the question, after all.

“Uh, walls aren’t actually that comfortable?”  He tries to take a deep breath, but his heart is racing and he can’t make it happen.  He wants to see Dorian’s expression, but he doesn’t want to pull away in case he doesn’t have the nerve to come back.  “Can I make another suggestion?”

Dorian sounds curious and encouraging when he says, “What is it?”

“Furniture?”  He’s very aware that it comes out as a question.  He can’t tell Dorian anything, because he doesn’t know what Dorian wants out of this.  He shouldn’t know what _he_ wants out of it, but he does.  He thinks he’s known since the first time Dorian pushed him out of the way of a bullet meant for someone else.

“That’s a very brief suggestion,” Dorian says, and John can’t help but laugh.

He straightens up, both hands on Dorian’s shoulders now, and catches his eye.  “Can I push you onto one of those chairs?” John asks.  “I’m pretty sure it’ll feel better than the wall.”

“You have a very high opinion of Rudy’s furniture,” Dorian tells him.

John scoffs.  “I have a very low opinion of Rudy’s walls.”

“Yes,” Dorian says.

They look at each other for a moment before John realizes what he means.  “You’re okay with the chair?” he says, just to make sure.

“I’m okay with the chair,” Dorian agrees.  “I’m actually very interested to see what will happen, given that your ability to kiss me in a reclining chair would seem to be dependent on a great deal more physical contact than we currently have.”

“Yeah,” John says, half amused and half worried that they’ve already gone too far.  “That’s sort of the point.  Why else do you push someone up against a wall?”

This seems to give Dorian pause.  “I don’t know,” he says at last, and John has to smile at the effort.  “I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

“So why do you want to do it?” John asks, giving his shoulders a gentle push.  

Dorian doesn’t move.  “I don’t know,” he says again.  “It seems like the kind of thing you would like.”

He probably shouldn’t ask.  “Getting pushed around, or being kissed without… you know.  Knowing it’s okay first.  Step back.”

Dorian takes a single step backwards.  “Confidence,” he says.  “Initiative.  A certain disregard for social custom.  They’re traits you clearly value.”

“Okay,” John says.  “First off, me pushing you into a chair involves you letting yourself be pushed.  Second, you barely touch me outside of life-threatening situations.  You ever heard of testing the water before you jump into the deep end?”

“Have you heard of harassment and assault charges,” Dorian counters, although he’s gotten the message and is backing up under John’s direction.  “Why do you think I keep asking you if I can do it?”

It makes John stop, because wow.  The idea that Dorian doesn’t touch him because he could get in trouble for it is… surprisingly new, actually.  Inappropriate sexual contact aside, John claps him on the shoulder, takes him by the arm, steers him with a hand on his back.  Pats him on the chest, lately.  Dances with him.

Dorian doesn’t initiate any of it.

“Do you want to push me?” John says abruptly.  “I mean, you can.  You, uh, you have permission to touch me.  Or whatever it is you need.”

The look Dorian gives him is indecipherable.  “Do I?”

John is going to regret this.  He can already see it on Dorian’s face.  This is a bad idea.  Dorian is made of titanium and power, and he could break John very easily.

“Yeah,” John says.  No matter what Dorian is, he’s kept John alive a hundred times over.  Trusting him isn’t a question.  It’s a given.

“Turn around,” Dorian says.

He does.  Dorian moves with him.  When John has his back to the chair, Dorian pushes him with exactly the same amount of force John used on him.  John’s expecting it and he still isn’t ready.  His organic leg folds on contact with the recliner and he goes down hard.

The chair doesn’t so much as creak.  Even when Dorian looms over him, knees braced on either side of John’s hips, the chair doesn’t make a sound and John wonders what it’s made of.  Then he wonders what Dorian is doing in law enforcement, because he slides one hand under John’s shirt and braces the other next to his head.  When he leans in, his kisses taste like passion and sex.

John has two choices: breathe or kiss.  He does what any sane person would do and kisses Dorian until he’s gasping with it, hard and hot for a promise neither of them has made.  It’s just kissing.  Dirty kissing.  With full body involvement.  It doesn’t mean anything other than what it is.  If he forgot to ask Dorian what exactly it is, or could be, well.  He can stand not knowing where it’s going if this is how they get there.

“I didn’t ask you,” Dorian murmurs, trailing his tongue along John’s jaw in the pause.  The hand under John’s shirt is as low as it can go and still be on skin, while the other one is carding deliberate strokes through his hair.  “How close you’d be willing to get.”

It sounds an awful lot like _how far you’re willing to go,_ and John wants to say _anywhere with you._  He’s hopelessly romantic, he knows it, and he tries to suppress it whenever he’s around… anyone.  Right now he’s panting, too breathless to talk anyway, and he’s worried that Dorian will realize just how interested he is before he has a chance to explain.

“You seem okay with this,” Dorian adds, and somehow he knows to tug on John’s hair.  Jesus.  He couldn’t put an arm around John for a photo without being prompted, and now he’s pulling hair.  “But we only agreed to kiss, and to change positions, so I need you to let me know if it’s going too far.”

He even sounds like a sexbot, John thinks, a little wildly.

“It’s fine,” he manages, but only because he has to.  If he doesn’t say anything, Dorian will stop.  John may be a total mess over a few kisses and some pressure where it counts, but the last thing he wants is for this to be over.

“Tell me when it’s not,” Dorian says, smooth and inevitable like the heat of the sun.  He shifts, leaning in to press his mouth somewhere new, and the way his weight slides across John’s body makes John close his eyes.

In his defense, his skin feels like it's on fire.  Even his leg is tingling, which he didn’t know it could do, and he tries to move when Dorian doesn’t.  He arches upward instinctively, embarrassingly, and the wash of pleasure makes him bite his lip in a futile effort to stay quiet.

He forces his eyes open then, trying to see Dorian’s expression, and that’s when he realizes two things.  The phone in his pocket is vibrating.  Probably has been since Dorian stopped moving.  And Dorian is smiling at him.

“You have glitter on your shirt,” he says, apropos of nothing.

“From yours,” John grinds out.  “We’ll--”  He can almost talk.  He tries again.  “Wind up with it everywhere,” he says, as clearly as he can.

“I could take my shirt off,” Dorian offers, still smiling.

His stupid phone buzzes again.  “I could take your shirt off,” John growls, grabbing at it until Dorian leans convincingly closer.  “Someone’s calling me,” he adds as an afterthought.  “Make them stop.”

Dorian fumbles for his pants while John yanks on his shirt.  He gets it off one arm at a time while Dorian searches his pockets--way more thoroughly than is necessary, not that John’s complaining--and says, “It’s Detective Paul.”

John squeezes his eyes shut again.  He forces himself to ask, “Emergency?”

“No,” Dorian says.

What’s left of John’s breath puffs out of him in relief.  “Oh thank god,” he groans, his grip tightening again on Dorian’s sides.  His warm, naked, apparently non-ticklish sides.  Low above the waistband of his pants.

“You can call him back later,” Dorian says.  One of his hands emerges with the phone, which he leans over John to drop on the floor.  Well.  He lies on top of John so he can set it on the floor, because Dorian is remarkably careful with technology that isn’t him.

“Or not,” John mumbles, pulling Dorian’s head the rest of the way to his.  He isn’t very impressed with anyone in the department right now.  Present company excepted.

Dorian kisses him, but the hand he has between them succeeds in getting John’s pants undone.  The first John knows of it is the feeling of skin against skin and Dorian’s hand on him in the best way.  No questions, no permission… no hesitation.

John can’t remember the last time he was this turned on.


	8. Chapter 8

He's shuddering, shaking, falling apart in a grip that shouldn't be this good.  Why is Dorian good at sex?  How the hell did he learn how hard to squeeze?  It's not like practicing on himself would teach him anything.

Would it?

"Do you want me to stop?" Dorian asks quietly.  

John can't stop himself.  He was about to ask and now he can't not.  Dorian's question barely registers before he blurts out, "Do you--you know, do you…?"

"No," Dorian says.  It's weird that he's not even breathing hard.  That part feels weird, John thinks, even when the rest of it doesn't.  "I don't want to stop."

"No, I mean…"  He bites back a groan when Dorian pushes the chair down the rest of the way.  His body presses into John's as they stretch out, hard and angled over furniture that isn't meant for this kind of abuse.

"I don't want to stop," John says, belatedly realizing that Dorian's having a different conversation.  "But do you, uh--"

He breaks off at the feeling of Dorian shifting their weight, sliding a hand around behind John, and how the fuck is he that strong.  "Do you ever do it solo," John gasps, lifting his hips involuntarily, pushing into the tiny space Dorian left between them.  "Because you're good at this, you're--how do you--"

He can't finish a sentence.  He can't even get his hands in Dorian's pants, and he really wants to.  He doesn't know what it says about him that he can picture his partner jerking off, but he can.  It's an embarrassingly interesting thought.

"You mean do I masturbate?"  Dorian says it like he says everything else, a little amused and a lot matter-of-fact.  "After today I'm planning to start."

John closes his eyes, because Dorian is shirtless and still kind of glittery but he sounds like he's at the office.  It's messing with John's head.  He isn't sure not looking will help, but he's only better leverage and a technicality away from fucking an android's hand.  He's willing to try anything.

"So you can do it," he tells the darkness.  He can’t help remembering Rudy say that the new sexbots share some DRN programming.  It doesn't mean anything; they're both bots.  They’re synthetic.  Of course they--

"I haven't tried," Dorian admits.

Which is basically what he said, but a more alarming thought occurs to him and John asks, "Do you even want to?"

Dorian lets go of him, both hands pressing John’s hips down as he shifts and John has to look.  He has to watch Dorian sit up.  The surreal sight of his half-naked partner sitting on top of him is enough to make him swallow, forcing down any sound he might have made.

“I want to,” Dorian tells him.  His thumbs are stroking the skin over John’s hipbones, and jesus, why does that feel so familiar.  “Whether I’ll enjoy it is another question.  But there’s one way to find out.”

“Yeah,” John growls, because he’s hard and Dorian’s hand might have been dry when he started but it isn’t now.  Now, when he could at least stroke if he’s not going to let John thrust, those damp fingers are holding him down and smoothing idle circles into his skin instead.  “Take off your pants.”

The little caresses aren’t awkward.  But they’re not a porn move, either.  Wherever Dorian got his sudden skill at kissing and jacking someone off, John doesn’t think this gesture comes from the same place.

“That’s a particularly compromising demand,” Dorian says.  “Especially given that you’re still wearing all your clothes.”

“Oh my god,” John groans, letting his head fall back against the chair.  He's turned on by Dorian arguing with him.  That just figures.  “All those sensors and you think the clothes matter?  I’m gonna mess up my shirt and you think _you’re_ compromised.”

Dorian’s thumbs stop moving and just like that, John remembers.  Dorian did it while they were dancing, too.  He rubbed his thumb over John’s hand the same way he’s been pressing them into John’s skin here.

He isn’t fidgeting.  He’s petting.

“If they don’t matter,” Dorian says, “why do you want me to take mine off?”

“So I can touch you!”  He’s desperate for it and staring at the ceiling doesn’t help.  He feels foolish and stupid and that doesn’t help either.  He’s hiding in a tiny back room, messing around with someone who has no idea what he’s doing to him, and John’s not getting out of this with his pride.

It’s too late to salvage where they were.  The only way out is through, so he closes his eyes and goes for it.  “I’m really turned on right now,” he mutters.  He wishes he could say it quietly enough that he couldn’t hear it himself, but he knows Dorian will get it.  Whether he understands or not is something else.  “We never agreed how far this would go.  But I’m like, eighty percent of the way to the finish line, if you know what I mean.”

Dorian doesn’t interrupt, and John tries to breathe.  He’s still got a hard-on hanging out there for anyone to see and his balls are getting too friendly with the chair, but at least he’s not panting anymore.  Maybe it even sounds the way he means it when he says, “I don’t want to get there and find out you’re not enjoying it.”

“What makes you think I’m not enjoying this?”  Dorian sounds curious.  He also sounds way too calm for John’s peace of mind.  John tries to remind himself that Dorian always sounds calm.  He sounds calm in front of a review board, he sounds calm under fire, and apparently he sounds calm when his partner is begging for it underneath him.

John twists uncomfortably.  He tries to shift enough that he can sit up, and it mostly works.  It’s actually harder to breathe like this, and Dorian’s hands don’t leave his skin when he moves.  They just move with him, down his hips to his thighs.  No closer to where John wants them, but no less tempting either and Dorian doesn't even know.

“I’m enjoying it,” John says, maybe too vehemently.  God, he really doesn’t want to stop this.  Would it be so bad to let Dorian pet him until he gets off and just talk about it later?  “Can you tell?”

“Of course,” Dorian says.  “Your vitals are elevated, your pupils are dilated, and you have an erection.  Additionally, you’ve stated that you want me to kiss you, that you don’t want to stop, that you’re really turned on, and explicitly that you’re enjoying it.”

“Okay,” John says.  Somehow that’s embarrassing even though he knows Dorian notices and remembers everything.  He knows that.  “So how do I know you’re enjoying it?”

Dorian opens his mouth, tips his head… and he closes his mouth again.  John is struck by a feeling of fondness, a wave of affection that has nothing to do with lust.  This is Dorian speechless, and it doesn’t happen often.

John doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Dorian reaches out to touch his mouth.  He hesitates, a breath away from John’s face, and he asks carefully, “May I?”

“I said you could,” John reminds him.

“You said I have permission to touch,” Dorian says.  “You didn’t give me permission to touch anywhere, at any time.”

“Yeah, well.”  John tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry.  “I trust you.”

“And I trust you,” Dorian says.  Easily, like it’s nothing, his thumb brushes against John’s lips.  It’s only when he registers the scent that he realizes what Dorian’s doing: that’s the same hand that was stroking something a lot lower a few minutes ago.  He’s torn between flinching away and licking, because the only thing that would have made that better is a little wet skin.

“But I need to be able to ask when I’m uncertain,” Dorian is saying.  “Otherwise there are a lot of things I won’t do at all for fear of being wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”  John figures what the hell, he’s screwed anyway, so he goes for a lick.  Just once, checking the taste and Dorian’s reaction at the same time.  It’s not terrible.  “Like what?”

“I like that,” Dorian says, almost at the same time.

John blinks at him.

“You licked my thumb,” Dorian says, and it’s hard to tell whether he’s actually awkward or just not sure what expression to use.  “I enjoyed that.”

“Yeah?”  John can feel a smile spreading across his face again, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.  “Can I suck on your fingers?”  It’s worth it if Dorian likes it.  But his mouth is still dry and he won’t get far on just licking.

“Yes,” Dorian says, and John thinks he relaxes a little.  It’s hard to tell on a bot, of course, but intentionally or not, Dorian does mimic human body language.  In most things.  Maybe not when it comes to sex.

Maybe he just doesn’t have any examples to imitate when it comes to sex.

Which is a terrifying thought for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that John should not be having sex with his department-issued android partner.  Rules or no rules, this is a terrible idea.  It’s too fast, too new, too foreign.

He pulls off of Dorian’s fingers long enough to say, “Don’t use me as a role model, okay?”  The sucking helped, so he licks his way down Dorian’s palm.

“A role model for what?” Dorian asks.  He’s watching intently when John’s gaze flicks to him, and he adds, “That… feels good.”

“Mm-hmm.”  John licks over the base of his thumb for good measure, then asks, “How much do you need?  I mean, should I--?”  He holds up his own hand, and he still hasn’t asked if this is okay.  He’s sort of asking now.

Dorian doesn’t get it.  He lets his damp hand rest lightly on John’s cheek, which is messy and definitely not the plan.  “I don’t understand what you’re asking,” he says.

So screwed, John thinks.  Both of them.

He tries again anyway.  “If someone were gonna jack you off,” John says.  “Do you like it dry, or do you need--?”  He waves his hand again.

Light sparkles under the skin of Dorian’s face.  It’s the first time since he pushed John down, and it makes John smirk.  He wonders if Dorian’s looking up “jack off” or “doing it dry.”

“Ah.”  Dorian takes his hand away from John’s face and looks at it with interest.  “You licked my hand to provide lubrication.”

John wants to sigh, but--like everything Dorian says--it’s kind of hot.  “Yeah,” he says, because hey.  He can be clear.  “That okay?”

“Very,” Dorian says.  “Is this why you wanted me to take off my pants?”

“You don’t have to,” John says quickly.  He might really get this.  They might actually swap handjobs on an oversized chair in the back of Rudy’s lab.  He doesn’t know whether that’s dirty and exciting or depressing and sad, and right now he doesn’t care.  “Just, you know.  Push ’em down.”

Of course Dorian gets out of the chair, leaving John alone with all his clothes rucked up and his breath coming faster as he watches Dorian strip the rest of the way.  He’s big.  John thinks it’s a shame he’s never tested it out.  Dorian's not self-conscious now; why would it be any different when he’s alone?

“Yours too,” Dorian tells him.  

He’s not above taking direction.  Even in this not-very-private place, with the lights on and a blank screen staring back at him.  It hits him after he’s kicked off his boots--in between shucking his pants and dropping them on the floor--that this might be the most privacy Dorian ever has.  He hasn’t tried it out when he’s alone because he’s never alone.

“Better,” Dorian says.  He’s climbing on top of John again, and John doesn’t bother leaning back or away.  He’s going to be in Dorian’s face until he has that dick in his hand and then he’s going to stay there.  “Do you mind?”

John sucks on the fingers he’s offered and thinks that the next time they do this, he's getting a drink first.  Then he feels Dorian’s free hand on his, guiding him down, and it feels warm and soft and he’s greedy for more.  Who builds androids to be this real?  

Or this human, maybe, since the one thing Dorian’s always been is real.

He tries to explore, hard as it is to see with Dorian’s hand in his face.  He keeps sucking because it keeps Dorian from touching him.  He’s not gonna last long once that happens.  Dorian shifts a little, giving him better access… and yeah.  He’s got all the right equipment.

“Show me how you like it,” Dorian murmurs.  His voice is so close, but there’s no feeling of breath on John’s skin.  “Will you?  Do what you want me to do to you?”

John feels sound vibrate in the back of his throat, a moan it’s too late to suppress, and he swallows hard around Dorian’s fingers.  He has to lick his lips when he pulls off, and that doesn’t backfire at all when Dorian leans in to do it for him.  John’s sure he’s watching porn in his spare time.

Then he feels that hand on him, wet and sloppy and unbearably good, and he can’t breathe.  He’s barely aware of the first squeeze, an echo of his own shock.  But when the stroke that follows trails off into nothing, it occurs to his pleasure-addled brain that Dorian wasn’t kidding.  He’s copying John’s movements, one touch at a time.

“We gotta do this again,” John mutters, crowding him, pushing, and he gets nowhere.  Until he realizes what he’s doing wrong, and he tightens his fist and strokes Dorian harder.  He groans when the pressure he’s thrusting into suddenly increases.

Dorian stops kissing his jaw long enough to whisper, “I’m enjoying it,” in his ear.  John wants to smile, to laugh, but he’s panting too hard and he can barely feel anything that isn’t Dorian’s hand on his skin.  Which is why they’ll have to do it again.  He knows he’s touching Dorian: he can feel heat and slickness in his hand, but he can’t see it, he can’t--

His muscles are clenching, inevitable and involuntary and he can’t stop.  He turns enough to press his mouth to Dorian’s, which is stupid and romantic but Dorian goes with it.  He catches John’s thrusts, pushing back a little himself, and John wonders distantly what it takes to get him off.  Dorian probably doesn’t know himself.

The rush of sensation, hot and fast and undeniable, makes him cry out.  It’s embarrassing.  It’s awesome.  It feels better than it has since… well, the last time he did it with someone else.  He shivers violently, the relief almost too much, and Dorian lets go when John does.

Which is a terrible idea and he doesn’t like it.  If they let each other go, they have to face this.  They have to look at where they are and what they’re doing.

John drags his hands over Dorian’s legs, onto his hands, back up to his hips and holds on hard.  He lets his head tip forward, resting tentatively on Dorian’s shoulder while he tries to catch his breath.  A shudder runs through him when he feels Dorian’s hands settle on him again, holding him just as surely.

It’s funny, John thinks.  He’s staring down Dorian’s chest at his lap.  He has a better view of what Dorian’s packing now than he’s had since he got his hands on it.  Any semblance of hardness is fading.  There’s no other indication, though, and he makes himself ask, “Hey… what do you want?”

The answer is immediate.  “I’d like to hold you,” Dorian says quietly.  “Like this, if it’s all right.  Or some other way if it’s more comfortable.  For a little longer.”

Maybe it’s the coward’s way out, but John takes it.  “This is fine,” he mumbles.

If he smiles when Dorian presses a kiss to his skin, there’s no one else to see it.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s fine for a couple of minutes.  He kind of likes not moving, not having to do anything.  But it’s not comfortable, and they’re not actually anywhere more private than… well.  He wouldn’t want to find out Rudy’d had sex in _his_ back room, and the only thing that would make it worse would be walking in on him.

So they get dressed.  Dorian really is learning from the porn John thinks he’s watching, because John’s shirt is dry, and washing their hands makes up for most of what putting their clothes back on doesn’t hide.  Dorian lets him doze in the other recliner while he does mysterious robot things, and John wakes up to warm fingers tracing the lines on the palm of his hand.

“Are you awake?”  Dorian’s voice is a whisper and John’s not even sure what day it is.

“Yeah,” John mutters.  “Probably a mistake.”  His fingers twitch under Dorian’s, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Rudy’s on his way,” Dorian says.  “I thought you’d want to know.”

He doesn't want to know because he doesn't want it to be true, but they'll have to face the music eventually.  There's only so long he can go without answering his phone.  If nothing else, he has to eat, so they can't stay here forever.

Rudy seems surprised to find him in the lab when he arrives.  John's not sure whether that's good or bad.  When he mentions food, though, Rudy says he could eat, and it takes John a few seconds to recognize the opportunity for what it is.

Getting something to eat with Rudy, even if Dorian happens to tag along, is totally different than taking Dorian out to dinner.  So John swallows his protest and says, "Yeah, sure.  We should all go."

It's then that he makes what will, in retrospect, be the career-ending move.  He's not the only cop to treat his android partner like a friend.  So John takes him places, takes him out, dances with him.  Big deal.  Even letting Dorian jack him off when they're alone is kinky but apparently not against the rules.

It's when John turns to him and asks, "What do you say, you wanna come?" that he crosses the line.  He doesn't even get it when Dorian looks at him without answering.

He doesn't get it when Rudy laughs nervously and says, "Of course he does, we're mates!  That's what mates do.  Go out, have a good time..."

Rudy trails off when John ignores him, which is new but John is too busy frowning at Dorian to pay much attention.  "What?" he asks.  "What'd I say now?  You don't have to come if you don't want to."

It's stupid, because it's not like this is the first time he's accepted Dorian’s free will or anything. Dorian makes his own decisions all the time.  He does things John tells him not to, he bullies John into doing what he wants.  They didn’t go to that dance because _John_ wanted to go.

But that's exactly what Dorian calls him on.  With Rudy standing right there, at least, so it can't be that revealing.  "You probably shouldn't ask me what I want in front of our coworkers," Dorian says carefully.

"You're kidding," John says.  "There's no rules about--"  He stops just in time, so maybe he does have some self-preservation instinct after all.  "This is the thing that's a problem?"

"Not for me."  Dorian looks like he wants to smile and can't.  "I appreciate the gesture, man.  But some people might take it the wrong way."

"Uh."  Rudy interrupts before John can figure out what to say to that.  "Not me?  I mean, it's just that, I didn't know you had preferences.  Well, of course you have preferences, everyone has preferences.  But really, you can say what you want around me, is what I'm getting at."

“Sure,” John says.  He’d rather not have this conversation at all.  “Great.  Let’s go.”

They do, and he doesn’t even drag Dorian into his argument with Rudy over where to eat.  He also doesn’t listen when Rudy tries to call shotgun, because no one rides in the front seat but Dorian.  Otherwise, though, he thinks they all manage to act passably normal and nowhere near as much like they don’t know what they’re doing as he feels.

Sandra calls while he and Dorian are arguing over Rudy’s latest pass: is she actually there alone, or is she just ignoring her friends?  John answers, less to get out of a losing fight and more because he’s been enough of a jerk today.  He can’t keep ignoring Sandra just because he doesn’t want to hear what she’s saying.

She asks when he’s going to be home and invites herself over.  Probably not a good sign.  He looks at Dorian to find him looking back.  There’s nothing he can say: she’s his friend, and she’s trying to help.  She’s also his boss.  He won’t make tomorrow any easier by blowing her off tonight.

The call does remind him to check the message Paul left earlier, but at least that’s weirder than it is ominous.  He reads an address out loud, and Dorian just shrugs.  “Take your partner?” John adds, frowning at his phone.  “What does that mean?”

The phone picks up his words and he deletes them, but he does send back a _what’s that?_ message.

The reply he gets is almost instantaneous.   _Robot bar,_ the message says.

John rolls his eyes.  “Funny,” he mutters, tipping the phone toward Dorian before shoving it back in his pocket.  “Hey, look--she’s not alone.  See?”

“She will be,” Dorian says.  He doesn’t even glance at Rudy and the woman he’s chatting up.  Probably doesn’t have to; he must be able to hear everything they’re saying.  “She’s telling them good night.  He’s going to bring her over here to introduce us.”

“No,” John protests.  “Come on, what is this?  We’re not double-dating.”

It makes Dorian smile, grin even, wide and pleased when he tells John, “We are now.”

Which turns out to be all right, not that John would admit it to anyone.  It gives Rudy someone else to catch his conversation, and Dorian gets someone else to laugh at his jokes.  John mostly gives up being surly when they ignore him, and he sits back to watch.

Dorian’s not a bad wingman, he decides.  For anyone who isn’t him.  Dorian spent as much time undermining John’s dates as he did setting them up, and John figures maybe now he knows why.

Is he even allowed to think that?  So Dorian wants to mess around with him, so what?  Doesn’t mean he wants any more than what he’s getting.  Maybe John’s just a human notch on his belt.  Nothing to do with dating profiles and the relationships he doesn’t have.

Except that Dorian did call it a double date.  He was holding John’s hand when he woke up this afternoon.  And he seems like the kind of guy who might want that type of thing, if he were human.

Rudy’s girl Mindy invites him out to play arcade games--tonight--so John and Dorian end up holding down the table alone after all.  John almost asks then: what are we doing?  He’s not sure he wants to know, though, and they get into an argument over the game before he can decide.

They wind up playing pool.  Dorian is appallingly good at it, to no one’s surprise, and it’s a small audience but two separate people offer to play him next.  The challenge of the impossible, John figures.  Dorian turns them both down.

They don’t talk much in the car afterwards.  It’s a comfortable silence until they reach the lab, and that’s when John realizes how much the date/not-date thing matters.  If it’s not a date, he can drop Dorian off and drive away.  If it is a date, he’s probably supposed to… do something.  Or say something, at least.

Dorian says, “Thanks, man,” easily enough, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door.  “See you in the morning.”

“Sure,” John says automatically.  “See you.”

When Dorian gets out he adds quickly, “Hey.  Dorian.”

Dorian pauses, hand on the door, and he leans back in with a curious expression.

“Thanks,” John says awkwardly.  “I, uh.  I had a good time.  So.”

“Yeah,” Dorian agrees, smiling at him.  “So did I.”

John feels vaguely let down when the passenger door closes.  He watches Dorian cross to the lab and go inside without a backward glance.  It’s fine.  It’s efficient, it makes sense.  What does he want, a good night kiss?

John glares at the street as he pulls away, resolutely ignoring the fact that, yes.  Sue him.  He wanted a good night kiss.

He turns the radio up instead and tries not to think about anything at all.


	10. Chapter 10

He's later than he said he'd be by the time he pulls into his driveway.  Sandra's not there, so either she gave up more easily than usual or she's later than he is.  It means he can go inside and not think about it for another eight and a half minutes.

Nine minutes later, she's at his door.  John leaves the news on--actual news, not whatever Valerie watches--when he goes to let her in.  He figures it makes him look less like someone who's sitting alone in the dark wondering when he lost control of his life.

"Hey," he says when he opens the door.  She smiles back at him, which doesn't mean anything.  But she asks if she can come in and she mostly doesn't look like she's going to take his badge, so he holds the door for her.

"I'm fine," she says to his offer of a drink.  "I just wanted to stop by and ask what I can't at the precinct."

John raises an eyebrow at her.

"What are you doing?" she says.  And that's it.  That's the whole question, and she looks like she's waiting for an answer.

"I'm watching the news," he tells her.

Sandra doesn't bother to correct him.  "Are you dating your partner, John?"

He eyes her, no more sure of her motivation now than he was when she called and said she was coming over.  "Looks that way," John says at last.  It's both true and plausibly deniable if they need it to be.

She doesn't take the out.  "Is it that way?"

John doesn't know what's going on, and she's asking a lot.  "What do you want me to say?" he counters.  He should have made Dorian show him those rules.

"Off the record," Sandra says, and he relaxes the slightest bit.  She doesn't miss it, and her tone softens when she says, "I might be able to help if you tell me the truth."

Lying was never really an option. She already knows or she wouldn't be here.  The only question is how much he can make himself say... and whether or not it will matter, in the long run.

"Off the record," he repeats, for whatever good it will do.  "Yeah.  That's how it is."

Sandra doesn't stare at him, doesn't even have the decency to look mildly surprised.  She just nods once and asks, "Is it serious?"

That's where he draws the line.  "Oh, come on," John complains.  "I didn't even realize until yesterday, okay?  Give me a break!"

"Realize what?" Sandra counters.

That's when he gets that this isn't what she wanted to ask at all.  She doesn't care what they're doing.  She wants to know if he has inappropriate feelings for his android partner.

He's had inappropriate feelings for both his android partners.  The first feelings were murderous.  What he feels for Dorian is... protective.  Which makes no sense, but there it is.

It's more than he's willing to say out loud, so John tries to wave it away.  "That we're--"  The word gets stuck but he has to say something.  "Dating, or whatever."

She smiles at him, and he rolls his eyes.  “You said it first,” John mutters.

His phone rings.  He’s not sure he’s being saved from anything when he realizes the call is from Dorian, but he can’t not take it.  What’s Dorian calling him for, anyway?  They were together half an hour ago.

“Sorry,” he tells Sandra.  “Just a second.”

He turns sideways out of politeness but doesn’t bother walking away.  “Hey,” he says.

“John,” Dorian’s voice says.  “I think someone’s trying to break into the lab.  You need to tell me I can defend it.”

“What?”  Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it.  “Why do you--leave,” he says, when it catches up with him.  It doesn’t matter why Dorian thinks someone’s breaking in.  It's happening, and he needs to get out.  “Get out of there.”

“I can intercept them,” Dorian says, “but I can’t stop them if they tell me they’re allowed to be here.  You can tell me they’re not.”

John almost gets caught up in the tangle of android rules and restrictions before he shoves it aside.  No one breaks into a police lab on a lark.  They’ve been watching the building, they know Dorian’s inside, and they’re going to know how to deal with him.  

“They’ve gotta know,” he tells Dorian.  The words are awkward; he knows how to talk clearly and quickly in a crisis and it still feels like he’s wading through sand.  “That you’re there.  What if they want you to try and stop them?"

What if they’re after you, he wants to say.

“I’ll take care of them,” Dorian says.  “Just tell me I can.  Rudy has a dozen simulations running, man; they can’t just walk in and mess everything up.”

Sandra looks worried, and John finally thinks to tell her, “Someone’s breaking into the lab.  Did you call dispatch?” he asks Dorian, but of course he did.  He’s not stupid.

Before Dorian can answer, John says, “Look, do what you gotta do, but this is bad, I think this is bad.”  He doesn’t know how to say it any other way, doesn’t even know what’s wrong himself.  He just knows something is.  "You should leave."

“Can I defend the lab?” Dorian insists.

“Yes,” John snaps.  It’s a stupid fucking rule and he hates that he has to waste time saying it when he wants to be convincing Dorian not to do it at all.  “How long until you have backup?  They’re not there for the fun of it, Dorian; they waited until you were inside.”

Dorian takes his invulnerability for granted, but there are a lot of ways to shut down an android.

Sandra’s on the phone and John’s not listening.  All he can hear is Dorian saying, “They’re inside.  I’m going out the fire escape.  Rudy’s going to kill me, just so you know.”

It takes a second for it to sink in.  Even then, he doesn’t believe it.  “Are you leaving?” John demands.

“I’m waiting for the responding unit,” Dorian says.  “Outside.”

He doesn’t relax, but he stops waiting for the sound of silence.  “Okay,” he says, and it sounds stiff even to him.  He tries to take a breath, glancing over at Sandra when he adds, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, fine,” Dorian says, “but I’m telling Rudy you wanted me to get out.  Whatever gets broken is your fault.”

“As long as it’s not you,” John mutters.  He shouldn’t say it, he knew he shouldn’t say it even before the words came out of his mouth, but jesus.  Dorian was sitting on his lap a few hours ago, kissing him like it mattered, like the fact that they were together mattered.

He has to say something.

“This isn’t going to be a thing, is it?” Dorian wants to know.  John can feel Sandra watching him, and he closes his eyes when Dorian adds, “Running away from danger, I mean.  It’s not really what we do.”

“Where’s Rudy?” Sandra asks in the pause.  She’s still talking to someone else, but he gets that this question is aimed at him.

“Rudy’s out with some girl from the--”  He winces when he realizes what it sounds like.  He hopes Mindy’s not in on this.  Is Rudy in danger if she is?  “Bar,” he finishes.  “Dee, did you call--”

“No,” Dorian says.  “I thought he’d just rush back; I was going to wait until the car got here, but if you think he’s in trouble--”

“I don’t know,” John says, and he’s talking to both of them now.  “They were going somewhere public, at least.”

“I’m calling him,” Dorian says.

“Dispatch says there’s someone at the lab now,” Sandra says.

At the same time, Dorian adds, “Detective Kelsey is here with her MX.  Can I go in with them, or does your bad feeling cover this contingency as well?”

“Just be careful,” John says.  He’s not apologizing for this.  

He can hear Dorian briefing Kelsey, and he realizes two things.  One, Dorian’s left the line open so he can listen in if he wants to.  Two, he wants to.

"Thank you," Sandra says, and she's done with her call.  

John makes himself put his own phone down, but he leaves it connected because Dorian did.  He wonders if Dorian got through to Rudy.  He would have said if he couldn't, right?

His phone lights up with another incoming call, and he glances at Sandra.  "It's Rudy," he says, taking it without muting Dorian's end.  "Hey, Rudy.  You okay?"

"Yeah, is Dorian?  Where are you?" Rudy wants to know.  "I should go back; is it safe to go back?"

"Dorian's fine," John says.  "Stay where you are.  The lab will still be there tomorrow."

"Well, that's easy for you to say," Rudy retorts.  "You don't have a hundred irreplaceable pieces of technology in that lab!"

No, John thinks.  Just one.

"Rudy," Sandra says.  "We have officers on the scene, including Dorian.  They'll make sure any disruption to the lab is minimal."

"Ah," Rudy says.  "Captain Maldonado.  Yes, of course, I don't doubt the competence of the response, it's just that some of these things are very delicate--"

"We understand," Sandra interrupts.  "I'm sure Dorian will be able to tell us what not to touch."

"Should he even be there?" Rudy asks.  "I mean, it's far-fetched, I'll grant you, but it's not often that Dorian's alone in the lab.  What if he's what they're after?"

John catches Sandra's eye and waves at the phone in a deliberate _see?_ gesture.  He's not crazy.  At least insofar as Rudy thought of it too, which probably doesn't say that much.  

"He'll spend the night at the factory," Sandra says.  "You should stay somewhere else too."

"Right, of course," Rudy says.  He sounds as taken aback as John feels.  Rudy can go home, but Dorian hates the factory.  The whole point of him staying at the lab was to give him somewhere else to be.

"John," Dorian says.  "They claim they're reporters, and that the lab is public property.  Kelsey's taking them to the precinct for processing."

Great, John thinks.  That's just what they need.  "You shouldn't stay there," he says, ignoring Rudy’s protests that restricted access should, by definition, make something private property.

"I know, I heard."  Dorian comes very close to talking over him.  "The factory."

John sighs.  "Look," he says to Sandra.  "Can't he just stay with me overnight?"

She looks at him, and the fact that she doesn’t answer makes it very clear that everyone else has stopped talking too.  The question is met with so much silence that John can hear bells (probably from Rudy’s phone) and someone not breathing (definitely Dorian).  He wants to point out how not stupid the suggestion is--it’s not like bots don’t charge somewhere other than the precinct sometimes, and hey, Dorian used to bug him about staying at John’s house every other day.  He probably won’t hate the idea now.

He guesses that anything he says will make this more uncomfortable, though, so for once he keeps his mouth shut.

“Excuse us a moment,” Sandra says at last.  She reaches out to mute his phone.

John raises an eyebrow at her in silent challenge.

“John,” Sandra says.  “PR is going to let this go.  They’re going to let you do whatever you do.  Do you understand what that means?”

“It means I don’t answer to the PR department,” John says.  “Since when is that news?”

“No,” Sandra says.  “It means they’re not going to back you up.  If you want to date your synthetic partner, they’re going to let you do it until you hang yourself in the court of public opinion.  Then they’re going to declare you medically unfit and suspend you.”

John stares at her.

“If those reporters followed Dorian to the lab,” she says, more quietly, “you can bet they’re going to follow him here.”

He has no idea what to say.  He wants to say he doesn’t care, but he can’t, because his career is Dorian’s life.  And maybe that’s the only thing that matters right now.

John unmutes his phone.  “Tell him,” he manages.  It shouldn’t be his decision, and Dorian can’t choose without knowing what Sandra does.

She doesn’t take her eyes off of him as she says, “Dorian, the PR department thinks that your relationship with John is going to crash and burn, and they think it’s going to be public.  Very public.  If they’re right, if that happens, it’ll give them reason to remove John from duty and decommission you.  Permanently.”

There’s a pause, a second at most, and Dorian’s reply is almost the last thing John expected.  “They’re wrong,” he says.

“I know,” Sandra says, surprising him almost as much as Dorian did.  “But the law isn’t on your side, and constant scrutiny is a lot of pressure.  Even under the best circumstances.”

“I’ve run the numbers,” Dorian says.  “I’m in.”

Of course he doesn’t have to think about it.  He’s probably thought it through a hundred times, a thousand times in the space between cases.  In the space between dates.  Dorian could have decided this months ago or in the last two days and John would never know.  If there’s one thing he can do, it’s process.  Fast.

“I don’t want you dead,” John blurts out, because that’s what he knows.

Dorian’s tone isn’t any different when he replies, “Are you willing to make that decision for me?”

John glares out the window to keep Sandra from seeing him swallow.  If he couldn’t order Dorian to leave the lab, he can’t order him to do this.  To not do this.  Obviously.

“No,” he says.

It’s the right thing to say.  That doesn’t make it legal.  All Sandra or Rudy has to do is report him for being unable or unwilling to control his partner and he’s toast.  Police bots are property.  The department is responsible for their actions.  If he won’t enforce that responsibility, he’s a liability and he shouldn’t be on the streets.

“Come on,” Sandra says.  She puts her phone in her pocket and tips her head toward the door.  “Let’s go pick up Dorian.”


	11. Chapter 11

Rudy's there with Dorian by the time John and Sandra arrive.  Mindy isn't, at least, and John almost asks but Sandra beats him to it.  Rudy says she went home, and also he ran a background check and thinks she's clean.

John isn't sure why they all end up back at his house, but apparently that was Sandra's plan all along.  She apologizes to him, quietly, while Rudy and Dorian are setting up a charger in his storage room.  "I know this isn't what you would have chosen," she tells him.  "If you need us to leave, we will."

He eyes her.  "You say that like you're planning to stay."

She nods once.  "I called Valerie and Richard," she says.  "If we're all on the PR watch list, we should get our stories straight."

John doesn't like the sound of that at all.  "Our stories?"

"What do you want us to say when people ask about you?" Sandra says.  "And they will ask.  They're already asking."

"No comment," John growls.  "What the hell business is it of theirs?"  What business is it of yours, he wants to say.  Not her in particular, but any of them.  

The worst part is he knows why it’s their business: Dorian belongs to the department.  Anything John does with him is subject to review.  Sure, the department puts on a good show, giving all of them badges and titles, but at the end of the day John's original complaint stands: bots aren't police officers.  They're equipment.  They're financed by the taxpayers, and if someone demands full disclosure then Dorian has zero options.

"It isn't," Sandra says.

John scoffs and looks away, and Sandra adds, "I mean it, John.  It's none of our business.  But if you don't make it the business of people who believe that, then the only people who care will be the ones who don't believe it.  Unless you want them making decisions, you have to get other people involved."

She's right.  He gets that.  He doesn't have to like it, though, and he's pretty sure none of them expect him to.

Valerie brings beer.  Paul brings food and he doesn't say a word about his mocking text from earlier, so John lets him in.    Rudy and Dorian both seem surprised but weirdly pleased by the company, which probably means they're not getting out enough.

John lasts an hour.  Almost an hour.  It's close, anyway, and he doesn't storm out so much as get up and walk off without excusing himself.  If he ends up outside in the dark, well.  It's the only place he can hear himself think with most of the Delta Division day shift cluttering up his house.

It buys him three minutes of peace.  

When he hears the door open behind him, he knows it’s Dorian.  He doesn’t have to turn around.  It’s not that Sandra wouldn’t follow him, but he’s tired of hearing it and she knows when to back off.  She also knows that she and Rudy are the only thing standing between Valerie and Richard and all-out war, so she probably won’t leave them alone unless she has to.

Dorian’s as likely to encourage war as he is to prevent it, and he’s never known when to back off.  That’s what John likes about him.  Not that he’s ever said so out loud.  Encouraging his partner to mouth off will end them.  One of them, at least, if not both.

So Dorian’s here, and John’s ready to snap.  Not figuratively, just literally.  He’s ready to argue, to complain and protest and make fun of this whole stupid situation.  How did they even get here?  When he left work on Friday, everything was fine.  Now it’s Sunday night, and the entire division is at his house having some sort of emergency meeting about how his personal life should look in the entertainment tabloids.

And the best part is, they’re letting Dorian be the one to calm him down about it.  John doesn’t know whether that says more about his coworkers’ opinion of him or Dorian’s opinion of himself.  Either way, he’s just waiting for Dorian to try before he fires back.

After another full minute of silence, Dorian says, “I’m sorry.”

John opens his mouth to say, _I’m not hiding, you’re hiding,_ or maybe, _This was your stupid idea, I don’t see why I should have to deal with it,_ when he realizes what Dorian said.  “What?” he says.

Dorian isn’t looking at him.  He’s just staring out at the empty street, the same way John is.  “I didn’t mean for this to be a tactical operation,” he says.

John wants to say _what?_ again, but he feels like he’s barely keeping up as it is.  “It’s not your fault,” he says instead.  Because whatever they’re talking about, nothing Dorian does makes the world the way it is.

“No,” Dorian agrees.  “But you standing out here while all your friends talk about you is an indirect result of my actions, and this isn't one of the possibilities I considered when I spoke to you this morning.”

It takes John a moment.  “You mean, on the ride?”  Was that only this morning?  It feels like it was days ago.

“I said I wanted to be closer to you,” Dorian says.  “I thought that could happen without involving everyone at the precinct.”

“Yeah,” John grumbles, “that’s my fault.  Sorry about the whole, you know.  Kissing you in front of the whole amusement park.”

Dorian doesn’t answer, and John sighs.  Dorian warned him.  Valerie warned him.  Everyone tried to tell him what would happen, and he didn’t listen.

“We don’t have to do this,” Dorian says at last.  “You’re not committed.  You could just tell them we’re friends, that you like doing things with me, you know?  We can go back to the way it was.”

John smiles.  He doesn’t know if it’s actually funny, or if it’s just cute that Dorian thinks he’ll forget what it feels like to kiss him.  He’s not committed.  He’s doomed.

“You can still tell the conference whatever you want about android integration without complicating it,” Dorian says, oblivious.  “This was a mistake.  Captain Maldonado will understand.”

“Do you want out?” John asks the darkness.  And it is dark, house lights and the occasional glare from the street notwithstanding.  The sky is a weird shade of deep purple and reflected orange that would probably go away if someone killed the light over the door.

“No,” Dorian says.  He sounds surprised.  “Of course not.  It was my idea.”

“I’m the one who invited you to the dance,” John counters.

“At my insistence,” Dorian says.  “If I pushed you into this, John, I didn’t mean to.”

“I like that you push,” John tells the empty street.  "I let you do it.  At the very least."

At most, he was two weeks from jumping his partner anyway, probably in the field, and that would have gotten them in way more trouble than this.

Dorian doesn't say anything.  Not for the first time, John wonders what he's thinking.  How does his brain work, anyway?  Is he running calculations while they talk?  Reviewing case files?  Listening to music?

Then Dorian says, "You can change your mind--"

"I'm not changing my mind," John snaps.  "It wasn't an accident, okay?  You gave me plenty of time to think about it.  I kissed you because I want to."

"Not because you had something to prove," Dorian says.

"Not because I--"  John breaks off, glaring at him.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've noticed you have a certain predictable reaction to challenges," Dorian says.  "I don't want you to do this just because everyone says you can't."

"Yeah, well."  John frowns out at the street.  "I don't want you to do it because you're experimenting and you think I'm your only option."

Maybe John's managed to startle him, because all Dorian says is, "I'm not."

"Neither am I," John retorts.

It's a few seconds before Dorian says, "Maybe I am experimenting.  Is that the part you don't like, or is it the part about you being my only option?"

John can't answer.  He can't even look at him.  If this is just a game, he really is doomed.  He can't quit.  He can't even ask for a new partner.  He's stuck with Dorian forever.

He wonders, with a sort of sickening clarity, if this is how Dorian feels every day.

"You're not, of course," Dorian continues.  "I assume you're aware of the demand for police bots as escorts.  Security and otherwise."

John tries to ignore kinks like that for his own peace of mind.  He didn't know Dorian was aware of it, but of course he would be.  All it takes is one MX and they all know.  And if the MXs know, Dorian knows.

"I'm curious about sex," Dorian says.  "But I'm emotionally attached to you.  I don't want to do this with someone else."

"Do what," John manages, the words rough and forced out of his mouth.  "Experiment?"

Dorian doesn't flinch, but the look he gives John is worse than if he had.  "I'm not programmed for this," he says evenly.  "If you want a bot who knows about intimacy, they sell them at Shaw IRC."

John looks away, because, okay.  News flash.  He's a jerk.  Story at eleven.

"That was out of line," John mutters.  "Sorry."

"Then we're even," Dorian says, surprising him.  “I want to do this.  With you.  But I didn’t mean to make your life harder in the process.”

“Yeah, great,” John says.  “I’m sorry for being a jerk.  You’re sorry that everyone treats you like crap.  That’s not even, Dee.  That’s lousy.”

"Not everyone," Dorian says.

John snorts.  "If I'm your standard for good treatment, we have problems."

"The precinct treats me well," Dorian says.  "Everyone inside your house right now is there because they think I'm human enough to be with you.  That's pretty great, man."

John thinks it might be better if he just stops talking.

“Can I turn the outside lights off?” Dorian asks.

He blinks.  “Why?”

“Because I’m going to ask if I can kiss you,” Dorian says, “and I understand that it’s more romantic in the dark.”

“Don’t,” John begins, then shakes his head.  “Just… yeah.  Okay.”

The light by the door goes out immediately, and John sighs.  Of course Dorian can talk to his house.  That’s great.  That’s really great; what else is he telling it to do?

"Can I kiss you now?" Dorian asks, like it's just the next thing on the list.

Maybe it's funny, but that's what makes John smile.  "Yeah," he says, "but you're missing the romantic part.  If you're interested."

"Show me," Dorian says.

John points upward, and he can feel Dorian move next to him.  Without the light behind them, the sky is deep and dark and sprinkled with stars.  “The point is to enjoy the dark,” John says.  “For what you can see in it, I guess.  And what you can’t.”

Dorian is looking up at the sky too.  A single line of blue traces its way down his face, and in the shadows it’s bright enough to cast a faint glow on his shoulder.  “It’s a nice view,” he says.  John can’t tell from his tone of voice whether he means it or not, but it doesn’t really matter.

“I’m looking at a better one,” John tells him.  He smiles when Dorian looks at him in surprise.  Flirting and being charming are the parts of relationships he’s good at.  It’s the other stuff, the responsibility and good judgment that he has trouble with.

“Did you just feed me a line?” Dorian asks.  Another trail of blue loops across his temple.

John isn’t sorry.  “Sure did,” he agrees.

It makes Dorian grin, and that’s worth it right there.  “I like it,” he says.


	12. Chapter 12

They’re still outside when the light over the door starts to flash.  John doesn’t pull away from Dorian to ask, “That you?” before he hears Valerie’s voice and he groans.  Why does he even bother with friends?

“Hey, lovebirds,” Valerie calls from the door.  “Come inside, okay?  We’re all waiting to say good night before we take off.”

John sighs.  Now he remembers: he doesn’t have friends.  He has annoying coworkers with higher standards of social behavior than his friends ever had.  Resting his head against Dorian’s, he mutters, “Good night.”

It’s not exactly a whisper, but Dorian’s voice is quiet when he says, “I don’t think that will satisfy her.”

“Nothing does,” John grumbles.  It’s more about his frustration with all of them, with the situation, and maybe a little about the way Dorian has his arms under John’s coat and now he can’t even enjoy it that makes him complain.  It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I heard that,” Valerie calls.  “If we’re talking about people who can’t be satisfied, I’m not the one dating a DRN.”

He tries to decide how likely it is that Valerie knows the physical specs for DRNs off the top of her head.  Probably pretty likely.  So he stands up straighter, half-turns in her direction, and asks, “Did you just make a dick joke?”

Clear as can be on the residential street, Valerie replies, “Who said I was joking?”

The light is steady again, and he can see Dorian’s expression clearly.  He definitely gets it.  He’s barely smiling but he looks smug and amused and he raises his eyebrows when John catches his eye.

“It has its advantages,” John says.  Loud enough to be overheard, especially if she was eavesdropping before he raised his voice.

Dorian’s face splits into a grin, open and happy.  “If I knew that was all it took to get your attention,” he says, “we could have been here a long time ago.”

“You did know,” John tells him.  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that time in the car.”

“This is probably more than I need to know,” Valerie calls.  “Come in so we can leave, or we’ll be forced to heckle you on our way out.  One at a time.”

“Better get it over with all at once,” Dorian agrees.

John gives him the best skeptical look he can manage, given the circumstances.  “It’s like you don’t even know them,” he says.

Dorian just smirks.

In the end, it’s harder to see Dorian not leave than it is to watch the rest of them go.  Valerie’s veiled catcalls aside, most of them act like it’s just another night.  Not that they’ve ever gathered at his place before, all of them together, or discussed a university conference like it’s nightly entertainment.  They usually talk about PR as little as possible, and John has never heard so much about fraternization precedents in his life.

Still.  Sandra smiles at him, Richard ignores him, and Valerie takes an unopened beer with her when they go.  Rudy hangs back, badgering Dorian until Richard yells for him to hurry up from somewhere outside.  Rudy goes.

Dorian doesn’t.  He just stands there, in the middle of a mostly empty house that John’s never shared, and John wonders what they’re supposed to do now.  Is Dorian a guest?  A temporary roommate?  Date, lover… someone who expects to share the bed?

It’s weird, he thinks, but then Dorian says, “So, this is weird, right?” and it’s not so bad.

“Yeah,” John says.  “A little.”

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” Dorian says, and he sounds so damned sincere that John wants to take it back.  It was better than saying, _yeah, massively weird, in fact I think I might be hallucinating,_ but he still wishes he’d denied it was weird at all.

“Only fair,” John mutters.  “Don’t mention it.”

He has a space that can be invaded.  Or shared.  He’s not sure which this is, but he’s more sure than ever that Dorian doesn’t have anything like it.  

There’s a long moment where Dorian doesn’t move and John doesn’t know how to.  He wishes he’d figured it out when Dorian asks, “Why Rudy?”

“Why Rudy what?”  He’s not playing dumb so much as he is buying time.  This is the question he’s tried not to answer for weeks, and here it is, sneaking up on him again.

“When I asked to move out of the factory,” Dorian says.  “Why Rudy and not you?”

"Sandra said no," he blurts out.  "I know you wanted it, okay.  I asked.  She said you had to stay on police property."

Dorian is looking at him.  The house is silent except for them, which normally doesn't seem strange but right now John wishes he still had the news on or something.  "Thank you," Dorian says at last.

"Yeah, you already said that," John says.  "Don't... just don't, okay?"

"Don't what?" Dorian wants to know.  "Don't say thank you?  I could express my gratitude some other way."

It's light, teasing, and John knows he doesn't mean to make things worse.  But the joke--hell, the offer, John knows it's a real offer--hits his discomfort hard.  He can't own someone.  And he's already been with someone who traded sex to get what she wanted.

"No," John says weakly, but he tries to smile.  Dorian doesn't mean any of that.  "Look, you don't owe me anything, all right?  Not now, not ever."

"All right," Dorian says.  He takes it in stride, like that was a perfectly logical part of the conversation.  John thinks he's probably running the exchange against some psychology database somewhere--he does it with criminals, like it’s a hobby or something--but all he says is, "Can I suggest sex of my own free will, or is that inappropriate now?"

John considers the question.  He doesn't know what the answer is, but it seems easier than anything else they've discussed tonight.  "I'm pretty much never against sex," he says at last.  "But does it... you know.  Does it, uh, do anything for you?"

“Well, based on my one experience,” Dorian says, “I don’t think I can call the data statistically significant.  But I liked it.  Is that what you want to know?”

“I don’t think that really counted,” John mutters.  But he did ask, and what else does Dorian have to go by?  “Look, I’m exhausted, which is a lousy excuse, but if we’re gonna find out what you like I want to do it right, okay?”

Dorian studies him, and John would give a lot to know what he’s thinking.  All he says is, “Does that mean we’re not going to have sex tonight?”

“Do you want to?” John asks warily.  He used to think he was pretty good at the reading the signs, talking it out so no one did more than they were comfortable with but everyone got what they needed.  Then he found out his girlfriend was part of the city’s most vicious crime ring and she’d been playing him for information since the day they met.

He doesn’t know anything anymore.

“Only if you do,” Dorian says.  “Sex shouldn’t be a compromise, John.  It’s only a possibility if all parties are interested and willing.”

“Oh, thank you, Professor Dorian,” John retorts.  “Thanks for telling me what sex is.  I guess one time makes you an expert.”

“Why are you defensive about this?” Dorian asks, point-blank.  “Is this related to your dislike of sexbots?”

“No one should get to use people like that,” John snaps.  It’s automatic, unthinking, and he shouldn’t have said it.  He didn’t expect Dorian to push.  He should have, but he didn’t, and now he’s stuck in an argument he doesn’t want to finish.

“Sexbots,” Dorian says, watching him carefully.

“Anyone!”  He’s trying to shut it down, but he can hear himself and he isn't any calmer.  “I don’t like made-up shit, okay?  What people do with sexbots, it’s not real, and I don’t like it when people lie to me!”

Dorian’s expression doesn’t change.  He sounds as calm as John wants to be when he says, “Why isn’t it real?”

“Because they have to say yes!”  What does it even mean when your partner doesn’t have a choice?  “They’re told to--they’re programmed to say yes, okay.  That’s not real.”

“That’s not consensual sex between equals,” Dorian says.

John points at him.  “No,” he says.  “Exactly.  It’s not.”

“This is,” Dorian says.

John has no idea what to say to that.

“For the word ‘yes’ to mean anything,” Dorian says, “you have to be able to say ‘no.’  I can say no to you.  You can say no to me.”

“I know that,” John grumbles, but Dorian isn’t done.

“We’re not equals,” he says.  “Not out there.  Not anywhere there’s other people.  But when it’s just us?  This is as close to self-determination as I get.  

"So I want you to know," Dorian continues, "I’m here with you because I want to be.  I’m doing this because I want to.  And you have to do the same for me, man.  If there’s something you don’t want, you have to tell me.  Or none of this is… real.”

John's still lost for words, but not answering is obviously not an option.  "Yeah," he says awkwardly.  "Good.  I mean, I agree."

The sad thing is, Dorian smiles at him like that makes sense.  "So, sex some other time?  Unless you're interested in simply receiving."

John stares at him.  His brain scrambles to catch up and fails, and all he's left with is, "What?"

"You don't have to do anything to me," Dorian says.  "I'm not even sure you can.  But I could practice bringing you to climax, if reciprocity isn't a requirement for your enjoyment."

There's a dozen things in his head right now, and somehow all he can focus on is the words.  "Where's that colloquialism subroutine when you're saying stuff like 'bringing you to climax'?" John demands.

"Sexual slang is widely varied and highly personal," Dorian says without missing a beat.  "Until I know what you're comfortable with, it seems safer to use terms and phrases that are as neutral as possible."

"Uh-huh," John says, eyeing him.  "So when you say receiving, you don't actually mean...?"

"I mean that if you’re tired,” Dorian says, “you don’t have to do anything.  I could use the experience.”

“You could use the experience,” John repeats.

“I think my technique could use some work,” Dorian says.

“You think your--”  John breaks off before he echoes every single word out of Dorian’s mouth.  “You’re serious right now.”

“I’m very serious,” Dorian agrees.  It’s the fact that he looks like he’s about to smile at any minute that convinces John.  He’s not going along with it, of course; Dorian’s got enough on him as it is.

When he opens his mouth, though, what comes out is, “If I… you know, doze off, or… something.  I’m tired.  I don’t want you to think it’s you.”

“If you’d prefer to sleep,” Dorian begins, and John raises a hand to stop him.  It works about as well as it always does, which is to say, not at all.  “I’m only listing the options, not telling you what to do.”

It’s enough to distract John when he replies, “Well, that’s a first,” and then realizes that he means it.  Dorian tells him what to do.  All.  The fucking.  Time.

“It really isn’t,” Dorian says, and John snorts.

“No,” he says.  “Not so much, I guess.”  It probably means something that this is the first he’s thought about it for a while.  It might be why Sandra didn’t even pretend to be surprised.  If it is, half the department should know by now.

It’s not as terrifying a thought as it would have been a few days ago.

He doesn’t fall asleep until much later.  Dorian doesn’t need any practice as far as he’s concerned, but John’s the last one to complain.  The focused attention gives him more time to stare than he’s ever had before, and he can see the places where Dorian’s human facade breaks down.

His eyes aren’t perfect.  His skin is too perfect.  The only hair on his body is on his head and he has zero tickle response.  He’s inhumanly strong, which seems obvious until he repeats anything that makes John’s breath catch: over and over, until John stops being able to think through the sound of panting and his heart pounding in his ears, but Dorian doesn’t falter and his muscles don’t so much as tremble.

It’s amazing and overwhelming and John wonders where he gets off, doubting himself.  He’s clearly a walking encyclopedia of sex knowledge.  

When he tells Dorian this afterwards, with his partner still half-dressed and hovering awkwardly on the bed beside him, Dorian replies, “Anyone would be an improvement over your own hand, John,” and, “It’s probably been long enough that a plug and a vibrator would do just as well,” and John’s laughing, he can’t stop laughing because sometimes he thinks Dorian is the worst and the best thing to ever happen to him.


	13. Chapter 13

Dorian doesn’t stay, and he doesn’t close the door to the back room.  The charger isn’t loud, but John’s alone and it’s late and he doesn’t get enough sleep.  He dreams about Dorian being human and getting a new partner and for some reason his favorite color is red.

They’re both grumpy in the morning.  He doesn’t know what Dorian’s excuse is, but when he interferes with the coffeemaker (“you shouldn’t double-brew it, John, that’s too much caffeine”) John thinks his own is iron-clad.

“Get away from my stuff,” John tells him, and he gets a pissy look in return that’s probably justified but no other response.  “What?” he demands.  “Just say it.”

“You invited me here,” Dorian says.  It’s calm and quiet and not at all petulant, but John gets that he was afraid to say it and have the “invitation” revoked.  He can’t deal with this first thing in the morning, but Dorian has to, he has to live with it every day, so he doesn’t have a choice.

“I want you here,” John grumbles, in what’s possibly the least convincing tone ever.  “I don’t want you messing up my coffee.”

“I didn’t touch your coffeemaker.”  Dorian looks earnest instead of confrontational, and John knows what that means: he’s lying through his teeth.  Not with words, of course.  If he says he didn’t touch it, he didn’t touch it, but he only wears that expression when he’s trying to trick John into something.

“Leave my coffee alone,” John tells him.

“I thought sex was supposed to put people in a better mood,” Dorian replies.

“Sleeping with someone puts me in a better mood,” John says.  It’s more than he meant to reveal, but it’s too late and he pushes on.  “We didn’t sleep together, so.  No improvement.”

He’s lying too.  His mood was great last night.  This morning he woke up to an empty bed in a quiet house, and it was half an hour before he thought to check the back room because Dorian has an internal clock, right?  He knows what time it is.

Finding him standing silently next to the charger, apparently waiting to be retrieved, did nothing for John’s mood.  What the hell.  When John said it out loud, Dorian said he didn’t want to get in the way and John snapped, “Then sit on the couch like a normal person!”

He still feels bad about it.  Dorian came out and started cluttering up the kitchen, though, so maybe he knows it wasn’t directed at him.  John is trying to remember that sharing space with anyone is hard.  It’s not a robot thing, it’s just a… person thing.  Probably.

“Do you want someone to sleep with?” Dorian asks, while John pours his coffee back into the coffeemaker and starts it again.

That, on the other hand.  The tendency to ask awkward questions that John has to answer so Dorian doesn’t assume something worse?  That’s definitely a robot thing.

“I don’t want ‘someone,’” John grumbles, pushing his mug into place harder than he has to.  “I happen to like it when the people I have sex with don’t jump out of bed right afterward, that’s all.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Dorian says evenly.

“It wasn’t practical,” John mutters.  “I didn’t get enough sleep as it is; you wouldn’t have been able to charge--”

“Is that why you’re in a bad mood this morning?” Dorian’s being short with him too; he doesn’t usually interrupt.  “Because if it’s going to affect the way we interact, I think it’s practical to tell me.  I should be part of that decision.”

He should think about it, but he doesn’t.  He just opens his mouth and blurts out, “You’re part of every damned decision I make!  We’re stuck with each other; do you even get that?  There’s no going back from this!”

“Of course I understand that,” Dorian says.  He looks about as calm as John feels, but he sounds perfectly cool.  “There was never any going back.  Not since they first shut me down.  When I woke up and saw you, I knew you were it.  You’re literally it for me, man.  I think you can handle that, but if you can’t, I’ve still had this and I wouldn’t change it.  I wouldn’t change anything.”

It makes John feel like an asshole, but he probably deserves it.  “Just the part where you’re an android,” he mutters.  He means it to be an apology and it comes out as anything but.  

“If I could recreate the world however I want,” Dorian says, “I’d change the way it treats androids.  I wouldn’t change the fact that I am one.”

This is why he doesn’t talk to anyone important until he’s had coffee.

John thinks that anyone he’s ever been with would be storming out right now, slamming a door at least, but Dorian just stands there.  Waiting.  John holds up one finger and ejects his mug from the coffeemaker.  He swallows the coffee hot.  It’s a bad idea.  His tongue burns, his eyes water, and the machine beeps at him for interrupting its cycle.

He puts the mug back and breathes deeply.  Next time he should take the time to find cold creamer and make that less insulting.  The point, of course, is that he doesn’t have time, so he closes his eyes and hopes for the best.

“I want you to be whatever you want to be,” John says.  As carefully as he can.  “I wish you had an out.  I wish I did.”  He has a moment of panic when the words don’t come, when he forgets what he was going to say--it’s still early, damn it, coffee or no--and that’s the worst possible place to stop.

_Yes doesn’t mean anything when you can’t say no,_ he thinks, and that’s it.  “If we didn’t have to be together,” he says, the words tumbling over each other until they almost slur, “then being partners would be a choice.  A choice I’d make,” he adds, opening his eyes.  “Like I choose to do this.  With you.”

Dorian’s wearing the neutral expression he tries for when he hates everything happening around him and isn’t resigned to any of it yet.  It smooths away as John watches, which means he’s processing a lot slower than usual.  John can’t wait.

“Did I screw that up?” he asks.  “I screwed it up, didn’t I.  Look, in my defense, I’m not used to talking to anyone before I leave the house.”

“You didn’t screw it up,” Dorian says when he pauses.  “I--”  He never stammers, doesn’t this time, but the hesitation is noticeable when he says, “Next time I’ll ask.  If there’s anything else you want.  The way you did.”

The way he--  “What?” John blurts out.  He has no idea what that’s about, but mimicking has come up before.  “No.  Don’t do what I do.  Bad idea.  I thought we talked about that.”

It makes Dorian smile unexpectedly.  “You’re a better example than you give yourself credit for,” he says.

“I’m not,” John tells him.  “I’m a great example of what not to do.  Are we okay here?  Because I need to get my keys, but I don’t want to walk away and leave you alone with my coffeemaker.”

"We're okay," Dorian says.  Like he's testing it out, like he's never said it before, but when he smiles again John hopes it's true.

They argue again in the car.  This time it’s over turn signals and the appropriate use of the siren, so John thinks the day’s getting back on track.  Back to normal.  He may not know how to live with Dorian, but he knows how to work with him.

Which is good, because Monday is a minefield.  John is benched while Dorian gives his statement about the lab break-in: definitely not reporters, unless reporters wear flash masks and steal deactivation wands now.  They’re anarchist in their definition of public property and tenuously connected to a hate group that spends a lot of time critiquing synthetic diversity.  Of all the weird shit John was expecting, racist criminals didn’t make the list.

Dorian's on his own next when John has to sit through a “routine interview” with Human Resources.  He hears a lot he already knows about his own medical history and his supposed reintegration with the precinct.  It’s a thinly veiled reminder that only unbalanced people fuck the equipment, and he doesn’t know whether they expect him to laugh or rage.  He thinks Dorian would probably thank them for their concern, so he tries that, and it seems to confuse them enough that they let him go.

Between the two of them, he and Dorian get almost nothing done by lunchtime and they fail to stay out of Sandra’s way on top of it.  She tells them several times that they won’t be in the field today, and if they think they’re doing field work they should let her know so she can remind them that they’re not.  She also tells Dorian, in a slightly more sympathetic tone, that he’ll be charging at the factory for the foreseeable future.

It's not like John didn't see that coming.  Dorian's not going to ask, though, so he has to.  If he doesn't, Dorian will harass him about it as soon as Sandra's gone anyway.

"Why the factory?" John asks, and Sandra glares at him.  He's going to be the bad guy no matter what; it's just a matter of which one of them he'd rather have angry with him.

"Because I said so," she replies.  "Walk with me.  Both of you," she adds when John gets up.

Dorian follows, a step behind, and Sandra continues without looking at either of them.  "Police bots aren't household helpers.  They aren't home companions.  They're enforcers of the law and they belong on the street, serving the community."

John rolls his eyes, but he's careful to do it when she's not looking.  They're climbing the stairs on their way out of the bullpen.  He doesn't realize what it will mean to hold the door for Dorian until Sandra turns around in the hallway and comes face to face with his partner.

She doesn't even pause.  "The DRNs were decommissioned because their emotions overwhelmed their ability to make rational decisions in the field," she tells Dorian.  "I need you to tell me if you think that's something that could happen to you."

"Now wait just a minute," John objects, but Sandra lifts a hand to stop him.

"John, stay out of this."  She doesn't take her eyes off of Dorian.  "You're going to be hearing this question a lot."

"My emotions don't interfere with my judgment any more than yours do," Dorian tells her.  "They allow me to make inferences and see connections that would escape a logic-based unit.  I'm more valuable to the public for my ability to comprehend motivation and anticipate illogical outcomes, not less."

Sandra nods once.  "Good," she says.  "John, how much does your close personal relationship with your partner compromise your ability to see him as a machine designed for public service?"

"What is this, a test?" John demands.  "We're all here to serve the public.  Humans and androids."

"Most of the precinct calls them synthetics," Sandra reminds him.

"I'm not stopping them," John snaps.  "What's going on?"

"These are questions a review board would ask," Dorian says.

"No board," Sandra says.  "Just reporters.  Actual reporters, and interviewers, and probably anyone on the street with a phone.  Are you keeping up with the news?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”  John has national and international news alerts for the things he cares about, and he hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary on any of them.  Just the world trying not to blow itself up.  As usual.

“Yes,” Dorian says, when Sandra looks at him.  “Do you expect John to do interviews?”

“PR is still hoping he won’t have to,” Sandra says.  “This could blow over by the end of the week.”

“Wait,” John says.  “What?”

“Is that why you’re keeping us here?” Dorian asks.

“It was strongly suggested that I limit your field work for the next few days,” Sandra says.  “On the grounds that this could be a distraction.  Your return to the factory wasn’t a suggestion,” she adds.  “I’m sorry.”

“What’s a distraction?” John wants to know.  “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“Conference Room 633 is open,” Sandra tells Dorian.  “Show him some news.”


	14. Chapter 14

John doesn't like Conference Room 633.  It has windows.  Actual windows that look out on the city, not just the inside of the building, with an emergency release that can be opened in case the ventilation malfunctions.

His fondness for it doesn’t grow when Dorian takes over the screen.  It’s muted, at least, but the visual feed shows the two of them dancing.  The headline under the “Entertainment” logo reads, _Kennex and partner at “Officers’ Ball,”_ complete with quotation marks.

“You know I don’t actually care about this,” John says, crossing his arms.  He isn't going to sit down until Dorian does, which will be never.  “Right?”

“Which part?” Dorian wants to know.  “The part where it’s happening, or the part where Captain Maldonado wants you to see it?”

An “Education” marker replaces “Entertainment,” and this time it’s him at the welcome gala.  Just him, because the angle’s weird: he can see where Dorian must be sitting, but only because John knows he’s there.   _Police presence at robotic rights conference,_ the caption says, and the screen splits to show Sandra beside him.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” John complains.  “That wasn’t a rights rally!”

“Congratulations,” Dorian says.  “How does it feel to be an activist, John?”

He shakes his head, because there's no right answer and at least he knows that going in.  "This is ridiculous."

"But not unexpected," Dorian says.  "Public Relations is pushing the community involvement angle specifically to counteract this sort of association."

"How do you know that?" John demands.

"It's in the press packet they sent you on Saturday," Dorian says.  "I thought you read it."

"I read most of it," John says.  "Some of it.  The new parts."

"The new parts that were in the first sentence?" Dorian guesses.

"They told me to go to the gala," John says.  "I went.  What else do you want?"

He knows it’s a mistake as soon as he says it, but he never thought Dorian would take it as far as he does.  He sounds unnaturally calm when he replies, “Ideally, personal autonomy and fair compensation.”

John just stares at him for a long moment, waiting for the rest.  Waiting for the punchline, the explanation, something.  It doesn’t come.  Dorian stares back at him while the screen behind him shows their kiss in front of the amusement park sign.  It’s framed by the words, _Human-Synthetic partnerships: where’s the line?_

"Okay," he hears himself say.  "Okay, I get where you're coming from."

He hopes the cameras in this conference room are off.  John can deal with the fact that he's crossed this line already: he lets Dorian choose, and he wants that choice to be real.  He thinks maybe the way synthetics are treated is more messed up than anyone wants to admit.

But having that opinion privately is one thing.  Being confronted with it daily is something else.  And defending it?  Having a public opinion that other people can point at and tear apart, tear him apart over, just when he's gotten this one part of his life back together?

He wants Dorian to have a choice.  He doesn't want them both to go down for it.

"That's not going to be enough," Dorian says.

"What are you, a mind-reader now?" John grumbles.  He knows it's not enough.  He's not stupid.  

"We don't have to do this," Dorian says.  He's calm about it, gentle even, and John hates that he can't even fight for himself.

He hates it.  That's kind of a weird revelation.  He actively hates what Dorian has to deal with.

"Yeah," he says slowly.  He thinks about saying no; he honestly considers it, and it doesn't work.  It just puts them right back where they are now, facing the same problem tomorrow that they tried to ignore today.  "I think we do."

He can't be with Dorian and pretend his life doesn't matter.  Maybe the fact that he thinks Dorian has a life in the first place is the problem, but he does, and the only way to ignore it is to not be a part of it.

"I don't want you to lose your job because of me," Dorian says.

John scoffs at that.  "I should've lost my job after the raid.  And hey, you thought it was the end of the line five years ago.  If we're both on borrowed time, we might as well make it mean something."

Dorian looks at him like he's said something profound.  "That's an interesting way to look at it."

"Same argument you made," John says.  "Carpe diem, or whatever.  So am I caught up on the news, or are we gonna stay in here and play Thunderdome for the rest of the day?"

The impressed expression on Dorian's face turns skeptical.  "Thunderdome?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," John says.  "You and me.  Let's go."

They’re still there an hour and a half later, when the screen switches over to a polite message informing them that this conference room is reserved.  It asks them to please vacate the area.  “Wow,” John says, checking his phone to confirm the time.  “Sandra really doesn’t want us around today.”

“Or she’s doing actual work,” Dorian replies, and John sees the game save before it’s dismissed.  “She may not be in the office to miss us.”

“I can do actual work in the office,” John counters.

“Evidence to the contrary,” Dorian says.

“Watch me,” John says.

Which is how they almost make a competition out of accomplishing something productive before the end of the workday.  It’s not unusual: they’ve played this game before, just with a higher bar.  Quantity of work versus the potential absence of it altogether.  The fact that getting nothing done is even a possibility is probably bad news for their level of “distraction.”

John is about to prove he can still write a report--or at least start one--without Dorian helping him when a message pops up in the corner of his screen.   _You should have come to the bar,_ it says.  The user tag says _Paul, R._

John stares at it for longer than he’d like before glancing over at Richard’s desk.  The other detective isn’t there.  Dorian's scanning layers of digital something for reasons John would rather not know about, and he doesn't look up.

So John sends back, _What are you talking about?_ and starts trying to find Richard's case files instead.

_Northern Light,_ the message box replies.   _You should go.  You should take Dorian._

He’s pretty sure this is the lead-in to some terrible joke, but he can’t figure out why Richard is doing it like this.  John would wait until he’s in the bullpen and then call it out across both their desks so everyone heard.  Richard isn’t any less of an asshole than he is, so why the private messaging?

With no one else listening, he can at least afford to ask, _Why?_

Whatever Richard’s doing, it isn’t taking enough of his attention, because his reply comes back immediately.   _Important people go there,_ the next message says.   _With their bots.  Your reputation is tanking over your android affair, and it would help to be on their good side._

John frowns at the screen.  According to precinct reports, Richard is in court today.  Which explains why he has time to send annoying messages to anyone and everyone, but doesn’t explain why he’s doing it to John in particular.

_What’s it to you?_ John replies.  He’s still mostly sure this is a joke, but on the off chance it isn’t, the question stands.

_I’m there a lot.  Eventually someone’s going to notice.  If you’re there too, you’ll draw some of the attention._

The second part makes sense.  Some sense.  Of course it would be about him.  The first part makes no sense at all, except that it probably explains how he gets laid.

_That where you go to pick up bangbots?_  It’s supposed to be mocking, but after he says it John realizes it’s probably true.

Richard’s reply makes him raise an eyebrow at the screen.   _When they’re willing,_ he says.  It’s enough to make him sound like some kind of closet activist himself.  And if that’s not weird to borderline impossible, John doesn’t know what is.

“What are you reading?” Dorian wants to know.  “You look like that screen has personally offended you."

John looks up.  Dorian's still processing something, because the light under his skin flickers blue by his temple, but he adds, "It probably would, given the chance, but I don’t think you’ve been staring at it long enough for it to have developed angry subroutines.  Yet.”

"Everyone's a comedian," John mutters, turning the screen transparent.  He sets it to mirror, even though Dorian can probably read backwards just fine.  "Look who hasn't given up."

Dorian’s gaze flickers over the screen, and his expression remains solidly neutral.  Noncommittal, but not curious.  There’s no question that he makes the connection, and the only questions are ones they can’t afford to ask here.

“Yeah,” John mutters.  “Exactly.”

_We should go._  The message that pops up in the corner of his screen is tagged _DRN-0167_ , and John grimaces.  When he nods, very slightly, a new message appears.   _Tonight?_

It’s Valerie’s night to attend the conference.  They came up with a schedule and everything.  With no team-assigned duties and no field work, John has nothing to do but try not to think, and that’s never gone well for him.

He catches Dorian’s eye and mouths, _Sure._  

An unauthorized night out with a partner who’s supposed to report to the factory after work.  It’s not the lowest possible profile, but it’s not interviews and entertainment channels, either.  It’ll be fine.


	15. Chapter 15

The degree to which it is not fine is almost funny in retrospect.  By the end of the week it's clear that whatever the rest of the world thinks is going on, having the storm of interest "blow over" is the last thing that’s going to happen.  And John is willing to admit that visiting a robot bar with someone who could legitimately be considered his robot boyfriend might have made it worse.

A lot worse.  

The place looks normal from the outside.  It doesn't advertise itself any differently than the dozen or so other bars in the area.  But it's filled with robots, and maybe John should have expected that from the description "robot bar," but he didn't.  Dorian actually has to tell him, because it looks normal inside too.  

Except that every one of the robots recognizes them.  The place quiets noticeably when he and Dorian walk in.  Dorian's murmured, "They're all bots," becomes obvious and unmistakable, and John stares at the roomful of androids staring back at them.

He's not in the habit of pissing off quite this many people at once--not without a reason, at least, and preferably not without backup--so he looks at his partner instead.  Dorian glances at the bar and John just nods, waving him ahead.  When he follows, the hum of conversation starts to pick up again, which is weird but better than silence.

They're allowed to squeeze in at the bar without anyone getting in their face.  John nudges Dorian's shoulder and whispers, "Really?  All of them?"

Dorian leans into him and says softly, "There's a human at the far end of the bar, and another in the corner booth at your eight o'clock.  Other than you, that's it."

"Okay, but…"  John watches someone who acts like a bartender flip two glasses and slide them over to a couple of women who laugh like sexbots but are dressed like college kids on Saturday morning.  "What are they doing here?"

Maybe it's a stupid question.

"What are we doing here?" Dorian counters.  John doesn't have to turn his head to recognize the judgmental look he's getting right now.

"I'm asking myself the same question," he mutters.

The bartender is wearing a t-shirt that says _Give me your digits_ with a barcode underneath, but otherwise looks so normal that John asks for a drink.  He gets it.  Dorian is waited on with exactly the same amount of attentiveness, despite the fact that he orders nothing.

John already has his phone out by the time he gets his glass and says thank you.  Dorian wants to know what he’s doing, so John says, “Messaging Paul.”

“Are you asking for advice on how to blend in?” Dorian says.

“Oh, yeah,” John mutters.  “I want his advice.”

 _How’d you even find this place,_ he sends.  He keeps the phone in his hand for a few seconds, in case Richard is doing nothing very exciting.  “There’s TV,” he realizes, staring at the walls.

Dorian follows his gaze with what is very obviously a _so?_ expression.  “There’s also lighting,” he agrees.  “And chairs.”

“What do you need TV for?” John wants to know.  “Can’t you get the scores instantly or something?”

“Can’t you?” Dorian counters.  “Why watch the game at all when you can just look up the score afterward?”

Richard’s return message says only, _Friend of a friend._  It’s inconclusive and still reveals more than John expected.  Richard knows about it from word of mouth.  Like anyone who visits an area frequently, he just knows what this bar is--and more surprisingly, he isn't afraid to share.

“Do you think Richard is setting us up?” John asks.  “This doesn’t really seem like his…”  He gestures, but there’s only one way to describe it.  “Thing.”

“I think you’ve never cared about Detective Paul this much when you’re off-duty,” Dorian says.  He has his hands on the bar, but he’s watching John closely.  Fondly, even, if a word has to be used.  “Maybe you should put away your phone and enjoy the company that’s present.”

John glances around deliberately.  “Why?” he says.  “None of them are enjoying me.”

“I am,” Dorian says.

It was supposed to be a joke; he didn’t mean it the way it sounded.  What does he care whether the bar wants him here or not?  But Dorian is serious and sincere and it makes John think maybe he is being kind of a jerk.  So he puts his phone down and says, “Talk to me.”

Dorian gives him an amused look.  “About what?”

“Dealer’s choice,” John says, with his best rueful smile.

"Do you want to be seen dating me?" Dorian asks.

John raises his eyebrows, glancing around before he catches Dorian's eye again.  “Is that a trick question?”

It makes Dorian smile too, and only afterwards does John realize how badly he could have messed that up.  But Dorian is saying, “I wasn’t sure, since we never really defined close.  And you said we weren’t double-dating when we were out with Rudy.”

“And you said we were,” John reminds him.  It’s weird, though; he remembers standing by the pool table and wondering if he’s allowed to be jealous of people Dorian talks to.  “I had a problem with the double part, not the dating.”

“So it was a date,” Dorian says.

“It was a date,” John agrees, because he wasn’t sure and now he is.  It’s a good night.

“And this is a date,” Dorian says.  He looks pretty confident about it, which is also good and kind of reassuring.  Neither of them know what they’re doing, but at least they’re doing it together.

John lifts his glass.  “This is a date.”

He likes the way Dorian looks at him when he says it.  The thought crosses his mind that charming androids isn’t much different than charming humans.  A little harder, sometimes, because he still doesn’t know enough about bots to keep from putting his foot in his mouth.  But Dorian’s put up with him this long.  Maybe he’ll learn eventually.

They stay for an hour or so, because the place isn’t bad when John forgets to keep looking over his shoulder.  He’s half-convinced Richard is going to appear with a camera or some kind of mocking sign or both.  Dorian distracts him with statistics about bar dates and his willingness to be charmed, and by the time they leave John thinks he could have stayed longer.

He has to drop Dorian off at the factory instead.  The only good part of that injustice is that he remembers to reach for Dorian before he can get out of the car.  “Hey,” John says, when Dorian looks at him in surprise.  “It’s traditional to kiss at the end of a date, you know.”

Dorian grins, and it’s the best thing he’s seen all night.  They end up making out in the front seat in a way that’s probably captured on several security cameras, but what the hell.  It’s not a problem until he gets home, falls onto the couch in front of the TV, and closes his eyes.

His phone is the problem.  At first it just rings, and he can ignore that.  It gets a message--text--and another--voice--before he finally gives in and looks at it.  A third message comes in while he’s staring.

 _Dorian had better be at the factory right now,_ Sandra’s text says.

 _How are you even a cop?_ Richard’s says.   _Could you ever recognize reporters, or did the coma kill that part of your brain?_

Valerie is the voice message, and it’s short, which is good because Sandra didn’t stop with a warning.   _The restriction on field work was to keep you out of the public eye,_ Sandra says.   _Was I not clear enough?_

“Hi guys,” Valerie’s saying.  “Tonight’s speaker is done, but there’s a crowd here and they’re all watching you.  Half of them have you on news alert.  You might want to search ‘Kennex and partner dating.’  It looks real.  From earlier tonight.”

That’s it, and John sighs.  “Search the net,” he says aloud, because it’s better than calling any of them back at this point.  “Look for Kennex and partner dating.”

The holographic screen in front of him shifts, and the first fucking video is of him and Dorian at the bar.  His skin prickles, but he forces himself to hold still.  He orders the lights off and the house armed before he sits up.  

Sandra was right.  They’re being followed and he didn’t even see it.

He calls Dorian, scanning more results, and he doesn’t realize he’s looking for the two of them kissing in the car until he doesn’t find it.  There’s an almost word-for-word recounting of their conversation, though: the one they had when they first arrived, about whether they’re dating or not, and John knows the only reason it’s not an actual transcript is because that kind of recording is illegal.

It obviously happened, but it’s still illegal.

“I took Valerie’s advice,” Dorian’s saying.  “I can’t find any background on the humans at the bar that would indicate a journalism connection.”

“Journalism isn’t the word I would use,” John mutters.  Valerie must have sent that message to both of them.  “What about the bots?”

“You think they have enough free will to report on us?” Dorian asks.

“Look who’s talking,” John counters.  “Day one, you told me you decide what you report and what you don’t.”

“None of them were DRNs, John.”  There’s something in his voice that makes John think he’s put his foot in it again, but Dorian goes on.  “If it was a bot, they wouldn’t have needed to illegally record our conversation.  They’d be able to hear and remember it as is.”

“Yeah, I thought it sounded pretty accurate,” John grumbles.  “Flirting at a bot bar takes exhibitionism to a different level, doesn’t it.”

“Are you into exhibitionism?” Dorian asks.  “You seemed comfortable enough at the time.  Three of the bots we saw tonight had journalistic connections, but none of those connections look related to the source of the video.”

“News name,” John says.  “Probably hiding behind an alias.”

“Easier for a bot to get a job through an avatar,” Dorian agrees.  “I’ll see what I can find.  You didn’t answer my question.”

“About exhibitionism?” John asks.  He smiles in spite of himself.  “There’s worse things.”

“There’s worse things than getting punched in the face,” Dorian says.  “That doesn’t mean people are lining up for the privilege.”

“It’s dangerous,” John says.

“So is our job,” Dorian replies.

“Which I also like,” John tells him.

“All right,” Dorian says easily.  “So that’s one vote for exhibitionism.”

“Can I just point out that footage of me kissing you has shown up on the other side of the country,” John says.  “It’s not really a choice.  It’s just the reality of the situation.”

“Enjoying it is a choice,” Dorian says.

He almost says he’s not enjoying it, but he catches himself just in time.  “I enjoy kissing you,” he says.  “I don’t enjoy being followed by anyone with a camera.”

There must be something in his voice, or the way he says it, because Dorian asks, “Are you being followed, John?”

It galls him to admit he doesn’t know.  Richard’s text struck a little too close to home, but he’s not going to lie.  Dorian thinks he should be assigned a protection detail.  John thinks that’s overkill and he’d never live it down.

By the next morning his car’s been bugged and three separate people have tried to hack his house computer.  He doesn’t get a protection detail, but he does get an invitation from the department to draft a statement for the press.  A statement they’ll “approve.”  He figures that means they’re writing it and ignores the assignment entirely.

Until Dorian hands him something in the middle of the morning, tells him it’s approved, and that the press meeting is at one.

“What’s it say?” John asks.  When Dorian doesn’t answer, he looks up from his speedreading and almost smiles.  He can see the moment Dorian decides not to explain what he thinks John doesn’t care about.

“Deal with it,” Dorian says at last.

John does smile at that, and he tosses the e-paper on his desk.  “Done.”


	16. Chapter 16

The statement Dorian wrote for him is short and to the point.  Most importantly, he's not embarrassed to stand out in front of the building and read it.  At least, not until Richard shows up too.

Before he can ask, he sees Valerie standing next to Sandra, who has to be there because she's his superior.  The rest of Delta Division is just rubber-necking.  That's what he tells himself, even when Dorian nods at them, and he does his best not to wonder if Dorian made them come.

The mic is active as soon as he steps into its range.  He gets mostly cameras and drones, but there are a couple of actual human reporters with nothing better to do standing by.  Probably in the neighborhood for lunch, John thinks.

He glances at Dorian, who nods again.  Who knows what that means.  It's one o'clock, maybe.  He's at the right mic.  He should start talking, he's not a complete fuck-up, it could be anything.  He doesn't understand Dorian most of the time anyway; it's not like today is any different.

"I'm Detective John Kennex," he tells the mic.  He's pretty sure it's recording him for the news agencies that aren't represented in the scattering of silver in front of him.  "My partner is Dorian, DRN-0167."

He didn't change anything that Dorian wrote.  He did ask if that was really how Dorian wants to be introduced--it is--but he didn't question anything else.  It got approved.  That doesn't mean he won't be fired.  But he sort of wants to say this.

"We've been serving this city together for the last seven months," John says.  "We've been shot at, chased, stabbed, hacked, run over, and shot at some more.  

"And that's just the bad guys," he adds.  "Lately I'm getting chased by people I'm not even trying to arrest.  So the department let me come out here to say something about it."

He's pretty sure the department didn't "let" him so much as they washed their hands of the whole situation.  But Sandra thinks it's a good idea, and Dorian wrote the damn thing.  Between the two of them, they're responsible for all of the good things in his life right now.  So he's doing it.

"I see my partner outside of work," John says.  "On my dime.  Not the city's.  And if I catch anyone breaking the law to follow, hack, or otherwise harass us, I'll make sure it goes on their record."

He did change one thing, actually.  The statement originally said "harass me."  The law is weak to non-existent when it comes to harassment of androids.

“If you have questions,” he says, “my contact information is listed with the department.  You don’t have to get anything illegally that I’ll tell you just for asking.”

He glances over at Dorian.  It’s a hell of an offer, but Sandra agrees with Dorian: if they don’t do this all the way then they’re on their own.  The department isn’t going to cover it up.  John’s never been good at keeping secrets anyway.

“That’s all,” John says.  He holds up a hand like he’s saying goodbye, because if this gets replayed later he might as well look like one of the people.  “Thanks.”

“Question,” both of the human reporters call at once, and hey, at least they’re polite.  He isn’t supposed to take questions, but he makes the mistake of catching someone’s eye.

“Are you and your partner intimately involved?” she asks.

Unless he denies it, the answer is “yes” either way and they all know it.  Not answering is probably the worst thing he can do after saying he’ll tell them what they want to know.  “Yes,” John says.

The other reporter clearly has to change their question on the fly, but they’re ready when John looks at them.  “Does the department condone intimate relationships between police partners?”

They either forgot to specify human-android partnerships or deliberately left it out.  Either way, John likes it.  “It’s not officially prohibited,” John says.  “But I don’t speak for the department.  Thanks,” he says again, and this time he steps away from the mic.  

Dorian turns with him as he walks off.  John really wants to stop, kiss him, and give the cameras a finger, but that’s the adrenaline talking and he knows it.  So he keeps walking.

He knows Sandra’s behind them, maybe Valerie and Richard too.  There’s at least one MX following with them, but he doesn’t recognize the number.

“Not bad,” Dorian murmurs.  He waits until they’re through the doors and recording is incontrovertibly illegal to add, “You managed not to kiss me this time.”

“Thought about it,” John says over his shoulder.  He probably can’t get them into more trouble than they’re already in, anyway.

“Did you?” Valerie asks.  She’s right behind them.  “Because that would have been something to see.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Richard says.  And it’s nothing, it could be nothing.  It’s probably just Richard acting like the asshole he is - it takes one to know one, after all - except for the way he said it.

Richard said “them.”

“You have five new emails,” Dorian says.  “Would you like me to read them?”

It’s an easy question, normal, with an answer he doesn’t have to work at.  “Why would I want you to read my email?”

“Because they’re from news agencies,” Dorian says.  “Some more legitimate than others, but  you might want to consider a form response.”

“After you just told them you’ll answer any questions they have?” Valerie says.  

“Actually,” she adds, like she’s thinking about it as they go.  “You could make them send the questions to you instead of you bringing the answers to them.  A static electronic interview would be a lot easier to control than a live, in-person encounter.”

“It would work better with your schedule,” Dorian says.  “And you wouldn’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

John glances at him, but Dorian looks like he’s waiting for a response.  “What, are you trying to convince me?" John says.  “I’ve already hit my limit on public speaking today.”

“That could be a form response,” Valerie says, and she and Dorian are looking at each other.  John doesn’t want to know and says so.

They mostly leave him out of it after that, which is why he’s surprised to hear he’s speaking at the conference that night.  Dorian waits until the shift is over and they’re in the car to spring it on him.  John tells him to think again, but Dorian’s hours ahead of him by then.

"It's a question and answer session in front of a sympathetic crowd," he says.  "All the questions are pre-screened, and it only lasts fifteen minutes.  They're squeezing you in between Programming Socialization and Developmental Exposure."

"I'd just as soon they didn't," John says.

"It's good timing," Dorian tells him.  He’s not-so-secretly delighted by the whole thing, but he likes the conference, people's stupid questions, and things that make John uncomfortable, so this is probably Christmas for him.  "You don't know anything about code and you have less exposure to bots than most of the force.  You're the opposite of what they expect a sympathizer to look like."

"A sympathizer?"  He doesn’t like it, but he manages to shut up before he can complain about siding with the crazies.  It’s a close thing.  It’s a good thing.

“A person who agrees with or supports a sentiment or opinion,” Dorian says calmly.  “For instance, the possibility that androids should be able to take some responsibility for their own actions.”

“Right,” John mutters.   _Shut up,_ he tells himself.

“I know you don’t want to be seen as someone like that,” Dorian says.  “But you are someone like that.  Where's the disconnect?”

_You are someone like that._  From Dorian, there’s probably no greater compliment.  And John doesn’t even want anyone to know.

“I dunno,” he says, eyes locked on the road in front of them.  Because he does know.  People who want androids to be treated like human beings are crazy.  He’s not crazy.  Therefore, he doesn’t want to be associated with them.

He expects Dorian to tell him off for it.  He doesn’t say anything, though, and the rest of the ride passes in silence.  John’s not oblivious enough to think it’s a comfortable silence, but he doesn’t want to fight so he lets it lie.

They’re expected at the conference.  Of course they are; Sandra fixed Delta Division’s attendance over the weekend.  Tomorrow night is Richard’s turn.  John wonders if he’ll be invited to speak too.  Wonders if he’ll do it, if he is.

Richard goes to a robot bar.  Does that make him one of the crazies too?

He texts Richard during the first speaker.   _How often is a lot?_  He and Richard don’t have much to say to each other, as a general rule, but he’s not the one who started this.  And the speaker is boring, so he has all the excuse he needs.

John doesn’t get an answer.  He isn’t surprised.

Dorian has to tell him when they’re supposed to do something, because John switches from Richard to Valerie, and then to Rudy when Valerie tells him to stop bothering her.  The speaker is really boring, and he’s tired of spending his off hours being stared at by other people.

“That’s you,” Dorian is saying.  He doesn’t stand up, so John doesn’t move either.  “The questions have all been submitted and approved.  Do you want to know what they are in advance?  I can send them to your phone.”

“Or you can just tell me,” John says.

“You’re supposed to be walking to the stage right now,” Dorian says.  “Are you listening to anything they say?”

John thinks he should know the answer to that.  “Are you just sitting there and watching?  Come with me.”

“I wasn’t invited,” Dorian says.

John scoffs.  “A conference on android integration asks me to talk, I’m gonna assume about me and you, and you think you’re not invited?  Uh-uh.  No.  Come on.”

He gets up when Dorian nods, and lets Dorian steer him by hovering so obnoxiously close that if John puts a foot wrong they’ll bump into each other.  It’s a trick Dorian was using by their second case together.  At first John noticed the invasion of personal space as much as he would a hand on his arm.  Now he only notices that they’re not touching.

“Am I supposed to know who that is on the stage?” he mutters.

“Doctor Amarah Jordan, Dean of Arts and Sciences,” Dorian replied quietly.  “She’ll be relaying the questions as they were approved.”

It tells John just enough that he knows to use the charming smile, accept her hand when it’s offered, and make nice while they’re adjusting the mic field and being introduced to the audience.  She does the same, if considerably more elegantly.  He gives her points for shaking Dorian’s hand and inviting him to stand between them on the stage.

“We’re honored to have you join us,” she tells them, for the benefit of the crowd.  It isn’t something he’s used to hearing.  “Thank you for taking time out of your day, not only to attend, but to answer some questions from the audience.”

“Thanks for having us,” John says, and yeah.  They’re gonna hear him everywhere.  “That’s what we’re here for.”

“You mentioned earlier today that you don’t speak for your department,” she says.  “Is there anything they’ve asked you not to discuss?”

It’s a good lead in.  Dorian’s right; they are friendly.  He appreciates it, even if he knows it won’t help.  The only way they don’t get fired after all this is if the public raises PR hell.  For them, not against them.  He’s trying not to think about it.

“Honestly,” John says, and it is honest.  Probably too honest.  “The department’s given us pretty free rein.  There’s not a lot of precedent for this kind of thing going public, so we’re making it up as we go.”

“Is there precedent for it happening privately?” Jordan asks.  She says it with a smile and she doesn’t follow up, not pushing if he wants to shrug it off.  She’s not a reporter, after all.

“Couldn’t say,” John tells her.  “Android partnerships have only recently become mandatory, and I’m new to it myself.”

She lets it go, which makes him feel more confident than it should.  He’s not ready at all when she says, “A member of the audience asked an excellent followup to that very statement.  What if any difference do you see between Dorian and any other robotic partner?  Do you think you would be able to have the relationship you have with him with someone else?”

He stares at her.  He knows he waits too long to answer, but he has no idea where to start with that.  He finally gives up and says, as politely as he can, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I think the question is, is Dorian special,” Jordan says carefully.  “If you had been assigned another partner, do you think you would have ended up here tonight, with them?”

Okay.  He did understand.  He just hoped that wasn’t what she meant.

“I can answer that,” Dorian says, saving them from what had the potential to be a really angry silence.  “No, he would not be here tonight.  Because he wouldn’t have had me to answer your invitation, make sure he showed up, and remind him to pay attention long enough to find the stage.”

It makes Jordan smile, and John can hear the audience relax a little with amusement.  The reaction infuriates him.  What the hell are they all doing here if they think every android is just like any other?

“Did you just ask me if Dorian is replaceable?” John asks.  He can hear the disbelief in his voice, but not the anger.  There’s nowhere near enough anger.

She looks awkward for the brief moment it takes him to catch Dorian’s eye instead.  “This guy isn’t replaceable,” he says.  He doesn’t bother to tell the audience, because if they don’t get that, there’s nothing he can do.  “He’s a living, thinking, force of nature, and I’m damned lucky to have him as a partner.  There’s no one else like him.”

It’s stupid and it’s corny and he doesn’t really know what he’s saying.  What is Dorian?  Who knows.  Who cares.  It’s not like John could define himself if someone asked.

But Dorian’s smiling at him, and John blames that expression for what he says next.  “Of course I wouldn’t be here with anyone else,” he grumbles.  “No one else could make me care enough to fight for it.”

It’s not his most eloquent argument.  Dorian gets it, though.  He’s obviously pleased, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the smattering of applause or the way the dean nods.

_You are someone like that._

If that’s what Dorian believes, then the least John can do is agree.


	17. Chapter 17

John thinks they're followed from the conference.  Dorian is sure they are.  Sandra calls while they're still in the car and tells John to come over, to stay the night at her place, and they both hear what she doesn't say: Don't go home.

She knows they get it, so John just asks, "Why?"

"Because you're going to need police protection before this is over," Sandra tells him over the phone.  "And my MX is here."

He and Dorian exchange glances.  "I have a partner," John says.

"Which is why I can't assign you an MX," Sandra says.  "You can't go home with Dorian, and you can't go home alone.  You also can't go home with a second bot, so.  Stay with me tonight."

John sleeps on her couch that night.  Dorian suggests, just before John drops him off, that she might risk her good standing in the department by doing it.  John snorts, because they're so far past "might" and "good standing" that he doesn't remember what they look like.

"She always has," he tells Dorian.  Sandra isn't married to her job; never has been.  She's married to her people.  “She cares about us more than she cares about her career.”

Dorian pauses before he gets out of the car, and John thinks it's because he's waiting for John to kiss him.  Which he does, slowly and pleasantly.  It's not until later that he realizes Dorian could have been wondering about the pronoun.  Does Sandra care about them?  Or does she only care about John?

He doesn't dare ask.  Not that night.  It isn’t hard to avoid, even when one night turns into three.  Sandra's asleep when he gets in and she leaves before he gets up in the morning, so John doesn't see any more of her than usual.  Dorian waits for pickup at the factory instead of at Rudy's.  They're allowed back on patrol, mostly because the department’s short enough without them, so even the workday is less weird.

It isn’t until Friday that John recognizes the new routine for what it is: a new routine.  It sucks, but they’re not complaining, so PR is ignoring them.  Dorian and Valerie have taken over his email.  Richard is pretending he doesn’t exist.  John is waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when the week is almost over he decides nothing’s going to happen unless he makes it.

Nothing good, anyway.  Someone, somewhere, has been planning to get rid of him all week.  Probably multiple someones.  And he’s just waiting for it to happen.

“Hey,” John says, when Dorian climbs into the passenger seat.  “What are you doing this weekend?”

Dorian fastens his seatbelt before turning his attention to the windshield.  He doesn’t look at John.  “I’ll be on factory duty,” he says.

“Yeah, but what do you want to do?”  John starts the car and makes the tires squeal, just because he can.  Screw this.  Their blaze of glory isn’t over until they’re on review or one of them is actually fired.

Or worse, says a traitorous voice in the back of his mind.

“Something with you,” Dorian says immediately.

John makes a face, because Dorian just says things like that.  He doesn’t know how, or why, but maybe the strangest part is that he wants to know.  He thinks that if they hung out more he might have some idea, which is weird because they’re together all the time.  It’s not enough.

“That’s a little vague,” he says.  “Come on, something like what?  Hiking?  Bowling?  Watching TV?”

Dorian sounds amused when he says, “You don’t seem like much of a hiker, John,” and John should be offended.  He’s meant to banter, he knows it, but maybe he knows Dorian by now too, because his partner didn’t just take the first suggestion and run with it.  Dorian said that for a reason.

“Really?” John says.  “Hiking?  Why do you want to go hiking?”

“Why did you mention it?” Dorian counters.  “You don’t even like the outdoors.”

“What do you base that on?” John wants to know.  “How much recreational time I have as a city detective?”

“I base that on your own statements that, one, if you lived in a cabin you’d kill yourself, and two, the beach is a good place to get cancer,” Dorian tells him.  The comments are probably word for word, but at least he doesn’t mimic John’s voice.

“That’s because of the people,” John says.  “People in small towns are crazy.  And people at the beach are annoying.  The point of hiking is to get away from people.  Therefore, hiking is fun.”

“I’d like to go hiking,” Dorian says.

“Great,” John says.  “You care where?”  It’ll probably depend on where he can convince Sandra to sign off on, but she’s sympathetic and he’s creative.  They’ll make it work.

He can hear the smile in Dorian’s voice when he says, “Dealer’s choice.”

Sandra is not impressed when he tells her he wants to spend his weekend combing Fugitive Hills.  He thinks she’s seen right through him until she says, “John, I know you hate cameras but it’s been a tough week.  Take a couple days off, okay?”

“I’m trying,” he tells her.  “Let me take Dorian, and we’ll both be out of your hair until Monday.”

She’s going to argue, and he sees the moment when she realizes what he’s asking.  There’s no obvious pause, but their eyes meet and he knows that she knows.  “Are you after someone in particular,” she asks, “or just doing the department’s dirty work?”

People who need to disappear sometimes go off the grid to make surveillance and identification hacks harder to trace.  The hills are a popular choice.  With the amount of crime in the city these days, the department can’t spare anyone to chase people who aren’t actively causing trouble.  Doesn’t mean vigilantes don’t go hunting.

“Depends who we find,” John says.  He isn’t planning to hunt anything but privacy.  “Don’t send us after anyone we can’t recognize.”

She smiles, and he knows they’re good to go.  “Don’t come back with anyone I can’t lock up,” Sandra tells him.

He tells Dorian they’re cleared.  He goes home that night for the first time in days, and there’s no one waiting for him there.  It’s familiar, and it's a relief, and he thinks he’ll sleep better for it.  He puts together a day pack and falls into bed.

While he’s staring at the ceiling, he thinks of all the things he didn’t pack.  Of all the things a fugitive would take, or not take, and whether it’s smart or stupid to have his phone on him all the time.  He doesn’t notice when he falls asleep, but he dreams that Dorian gets lost in the woods and John never sees him again.

The drive into work on Saturday morning irritates him more than he expected it to.  He likes what he does, but he’s fucking tired of it right now.  When his car identifies two possible tails, he makes an illegal turn into a construction zone and rides it all the way to the bridge.  The tails drop off.

Dorian is waiting outside the factory.  John is glad he doesn’t have to go in, but he's still pissy about being there at all, and he knows it's obvious.  Dorian doesn’t even say good morning.

“You’re angry,” he says as he slides into the passenger seat.  “Did something happen on your way here?”

“No,” John says, annoyed that Dorian can tell his mood is more recent than last night.  “You have any trouble taking off this morning?”

“No,” Dorian replies.  “John, why did you drive through a construction zone?”

“Stop talking to the car,” John snaps.   “You ever thought about running?”

The pause seems long, but it’s probably only a second or two.  “I can’t answer that without compromising someone else,” Dorian says.  It’s smooth and maybe a little apologetic, but he understands what John is asking.

“Who?”  The question is a reflex, and John shakes his head the moment it’s out.  “No, don’t answer that.”

He doesn’t, and John frowns.  If Dorian hadn’t thought about it, no one’s compromised.  If Dorian thought about it before anyone else mentioned it, no one but him is compromised.  So Dorian must have thought about it because someone else suggested it.  Not John.  Not Sandra either, he’s pretty sure.

Rudy?  Rudy would make sense.

“You ever think about running now?” John asks carefully.

“Why?” Dorian counters.  “Do you?”

“Not until last night,” John says.  “I just realized… I mean, I know it’s stupid.  We’d get caught.  But I don’t think I could watch them--if I get fired.  What happens to you?”

“I get deactivated,” Dorian says.  Not like it’s obvious.  Of course it’s obvious; that’s not the part that bothers him.  Like it’s nothing.

“I can’t let that happen,” John mutters.

“So don’t get fired.”  Dorian isn’t looking at him, but he’s smiling.

He makes a face, but there’s nothing he can say to that and they shouldn’t be talking about this anyway.  If this weekend is as good as it gets, they might as well enjoy it.  “You planning to wear that uniform all day?”

This makes Dorian pause longer than the question about running, and John thinks that’s wrong.  “Do I have a choice?” Dorian asks at last.

He pulls over at the next drugstore they pass, and they get Dorian an LA tshirt and a California sweatshirt.  John would feel bad about only buying him touristy stuff, but he figures the department’s put him in as many fancy shirts as John owns.  He might as well have some variety.

Dorian wears both, and they probably look a little strange getting out of a cop car at the trailhead.  The parking lot is on the side of the highway, easy access to the river, the gorge if they walk long enough, and trails on the other side that go up into the mountains.  There’s signage and picnic tables and families pulling in for the day, for the weekend, even.

John pulls his backpack out of the car, in jeans and a tshirt, with a jacket he hopes he won’t want stuffed into the bag.  He has water and food, an emergency kit they’d better not need, and the GPS on his phone.  He knows Dorian is armed under that sweatshirt, but no one else will.  Once they get away from the car, they’ll be less conspicuous.  Maybe.

“Have you been here before?” Dorian asks.

“Yeah,” John says.  He locks the car and scans the lot automatically.  “Been awhile.”

“Did you come alone?”  Dorian falls into step with him as they move away, and John figures he’s cataloguing every plate in the lot.

“With my mom, actually.  We came here to swim sometimes.  Well, I swam.  Or played in the water, I guess.  I think she mostly tried to keep me from getting hurt.”

“So we have something in common,” Dorian says.  He meets John’s surprised look with a small smile.

It isn’t bad.  He finds himself trying not to smile back.  “Guess so,” John says.  He doesn’t know why it’s okay for Dorian to talk about his parents, any more than he knows why he mentioned his mom in the first place.  

This isn’t the first time.  Not with Dorian, anyway.  He hadn’t talked about her since his dad died, and he’s not sure what changed.

Dorian puts his finger on the electronic sign at the trailhead.  Blue lights sparkle under his skin, and John rolls his eyes.  “We don’t need a map,” he says.

“I bet your mom took a map,” Dorian replies.

“Shut up,” John tells him.

He doesn’t mean it, and from the smile on Dorian’s face, he knows.


	18. Chapter 18

John is barefoot with his feet in the water before he admits Dorian was right.  He doesn't admit it to Dorian, but he says it where Dorian can hear, which is basically the same thing.  He never would have found the falls without Dorian telling him which way to turn.

He thinks the waterfall is new since the last time he came here.

"He's pretty great with kids," someone says.  The voice is closer than he expected it to be, and John realizes he's been staring at Dorian in the water to the exclusion of everything else.  He scanned the riverbank when they arrived, but he counts on Dorian to identify potential threats a lot more than he should.

Or maybe he's just distracted, and watching Dorian seems like the most important thing he could be doing.  It's a stupid thing to admit, but denying it is probably worse.  Especially since Dorian is playing with a bunch of six-year-olds on the smooth rocks in the widest, shallowest part of the river, splashing around like they're all invulnerable kids.  Who wouldn't be distracted by that?

"Yeah," he says, before he's even turned.  The answer is yes, no matter who's asking.  "He's great with everyone."

He shouldn't have said that, but when he looks around it turns out he's talking to a mom in generic label hiking gear and no make-up.  Snap judgment says she doesn't care much about what other people think and her tone is relatively friendly.

It doesn't mean she's not a criminal.  But she's probably not a reporter, and right now that's enough to get her a smile.  "Come here often?"

She laughs.  "Actually, yes.  The girls like it, and the air's better here than in the city.  You?"

"Not since I was a kid," John says.

She doesn't ask, and he doesn't volunteer.  He looks back at Dorian: barefoot, pants rolled up, and still soaked past the knees with water staining his shirt.  He can lift a child with one arm and they're using him like a gondola, grabbing his hand for a boost or a slide or just for balance when the rocks turn slippery.

It's weird, but he looks more human and more inhuman than John's ever seen him.  When he does normal things, his strength is more obvious than it is on the job, where everyone breaks through a wall once in a while or tries to pick up a car.  But three kids at once, without even bending over…

The t-shirt blends in with their bright colors and logos, though, and anyone who isn't barefoot is wearing sandals or water shoes.  It occurs to John that he doesn't know what Dorian did with his gun: is he still wearing it, or did he leave it with the shirt beside John?

“This is going to sound strange,” the woman next to him says.  “Whether the answer is yes or no, it’s weird.”

When she doesn’t go on, John reluctantly turns back to her.  “Go for it.”

“Is he a DRN?” she asks.

He blinks, glancing back at Dorian.  No one in the city would have to ask.  On the other hand, isn’t that the whole point of their grad student’s research?  What they wear, how they act… what they’re doing.  It all matters when it comes to how people treat them.

“Yeah,” he says.  “That’s Dorian.”

Then, because it seems weird to give Dorian’s name and not his own, he adds, “I’m John.”

“Krista,” she says, offering her hand.

He takes her hand because there’s really no other choice.  “Nice to meet you,” he says.

“You too.”  She smiles at him again, but he doesn’t know where she’s going with the DRN thing so he doesn’t smile back.  “I’m glad you guys get days off.  All I hear on the news these days is that the force is overwhelmed and you’re all working 24/7.”

That’s not what he expected when she mentioned the news, and it takes him a few seconds to adjust.  “Yeah,” he says at last.  “That’s what it feels like, I guess.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and he’s glad.  It’s nice that there’s someone in the world who doesn’t know about him and Dorian, but he doesn’t want to talk about work either.  He’s deliberately not checking his email or taking calls today.  Dorian’s probably monitoring both, but he needs at least the illusion of control right now.

“Excuse me,” Krista says suddenly.  She leans away from him and yells, “Chessie!  No skinny-dipping!”

One of the little girls in the nearest pool is taking off her shirt, and when she doesn’t stop Krista gets up.  Hers, John assumes.  The kid can’t be more than five, although why she’s allowed in the water alone is a mystery.  Parents seem a lot less worried out here than they do in the city.

Dorian has shed all of his children except one, a boy who’s following him from rock to rock as he carefully crosses to the far side of the river.  John watches Dorian boost him up onto the banking, pointing at something.  The kid starts pulling at the bushes over there.

“Chessie,” he hears Krista saying, “this is John.  He works on the police force.”

He glances over at them.  The girl is wearing her dinosaur shirt over camp shorts, and her expression turns from sullen to excited as he watches.  “I’m going to be a police officer,” she tells him.  “Do you have a robot?  I’m going to have a robot.  I like robots.”

“I work with a robot,” John says, gaze flicking to Krista.  She looks a little chagrinned.  “My partner is a DRN.”

“That’s the old kind of robot,” Chessie says.  “I’m going to have an MX.”

He feels his expression twist.  She’s just a kid.  She’s just repeating what she’s heard.  He doesn’t have to like it.  He manages not to snap at her, so he thinks he’s doing pretty well.

“Don’t you want an MX?” she insists, just as her mom interrupts.

“Chessie,” Krista says.  “John might not want to talk about work.  He came to enjoy the river, just like you.”

“Why not?” Chessie wants to know.  “Don’t you like being a police officer?  I’m going to like it.  I’ll be really good at it.  Are you good at being a police officer?”

At least it’s not about bots.  “I guess that depends who you ask,” he says.  “Why do you want to join the police?”

“Because I like robots,” Chessie says.

“There’s plenty of robots who aren’t police officers,” John points out.  “You ever met any of them?”

“But police robots are the smartest,” Chessie says.

“She’s only met medical bots,” Krista tells him.

“They’re boring.”  Chessie’s frowning at both of them now.  “They treat me like a baby.”

John looks across the river, where Dorian has a whole collection of kids helping him pick berries or something.  He probably shouldn’t tell her Dorian treats him like a kid all the time.  “All bots are different,” he hears himself say.  “Just like all humans are different.”

“That’s not true,” Chessie says.  “Robots are exactly the same.  That’s why they’re robots.”

“No,” John says.  “They’re not.”

“Mom!”  There’s another girl climbing across the rocks on the banking to them, and her shirt has aliens on it.  “Can I go pick blueberries with Dietrich?”

“Where are the blueberries you’re going to pick?” Krista asks.  “Did you put on more sunscreen?”

“I already did,” the girl says.  “They’re right over there.  Near the man in the blue shirt.”

They really are berry-picking, John thinks.  Dorian is wearing a blue shirt.  It might not be his most identifying feature, but hey, John’s already thinking of Chessie’s sister as “alien girl,” so he probably doesn’t have room to talk.

John sees Krista looking at him, so he shrugs.  “He’s great with kids,” he reminds her.

It seems to convince her.  “That man is John’s partner,” she tells her daughter.  “Check with him before you eat anything, okay?”

The girl is not impressed.  “I know what blueberries look like, Mom.”

“Check with him anyway!” Krista calls after her as she scrambles away.

Chessie is still frowning at him.  “I thought you had a robot partner.  Robots don’t eat blueberries.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t pick ‘em,” John tells her.

Chessie squints across the water, and she sounds doubtful when she says, “He doesn’t look like a robot.”

John has to smile.  “I think you’ll find he does.”

She thinks about this, and after a few seconds Krista offers, “It’s nice of him to help them.”

John scoffs to cover his laugh.  “It was probably his idea,” he says.  “He’s the one who wanted to come up here today.”

It’s not completely true, but it’s close enough.  They wouldn’t be here if Dorian didn’t say he wanted to go hiking.  It looks like the “hiking” part was less important than the “being outdoors” part, but John gets that.  It’s nice out here.  He’s trying to remember when else Dorian might have been this far outside the city, but so far he can’t think of a single time.

“Do MX robots pick blueberries?” Chessie wants to know.

He’s about to say “no” when something stops him.  All robots are different, right?  “I don’t know,” he says instead.  “I’ve never seen any of them do it.”

“They’re very busy,” Krista tells her daughter.  “Police robots don’t get much time off.”

“His partner does,” Chessie says.

“We’re, uh.”  He knows how stupid it sounds as soon as he starts to say it, but he can’t think of anything else.  “We’re kind of working.”

“Oh.”  Chessie is staring intently across the river, and John looks too when she says, “Like how he kept Marlon from falling in the water?”

“Sure,” John says.  None of the kids look like they’re in trouble right now, but then, they wouldn’t be.  They’re with Dorian.  “That’s what police officers do, right?  We keep you safe.”

“Right,” she agrees.  “That’s what I’m going to do.”

“Well,” John says, catching Krista’s eye.  “I think you’re going to be very good at it.”

Chessie takes it as her due, but Krista smiles.  “The north trail goes up the river a ways before it dead ends,” she says.  “I don’t know how much you remember from when you were a kid, but it’s a nice walk if you want to get away.  It doesn’t go anywhere, so it’s not very popular.  It’s pretty, though.”

“Thanks,” John says.  It’s probably where the teenagers go to drink at night.  Of course, if they startle anyone up there early, they might get some free booze out of it.

“Can I write about your partner for school?” Chessie asks.

“Sure,” John says.

“Okay.  What’s his number?”

“Zero one six seven,” John tells her.

“Was he always your partner?” Chessie wants to know.

He didn’t realize he was volunteering for an interview, and there’s no good way to answer that.  So he settles on, “He’s the first android partner I had.”

“What’s your favorite thing about being a police officer?” Chessie asks.

He usually says “catching bad guys,” but this time he wants to say “my partner.”  Neither one seems appropriate now.  “Helping people,” he says at last.  “I guess.”

“Why don’t you ask John’s partner?” Krista suggests.  “Can she ask Dorian?” she adds.  “I can take her across the river if you were looking for some peace and quiet.”

It only takes him a moment to weigh the options: sit here and watch someone else talk to Dorian, or go and do it himself.  “It’s fine,” he says.  “I’ll come with you.”


	19. Chapter 19

They end up taking the north trail sometime after lunch. After Chessie asks Dorian a seemingly arbitrary series of questions based on whatever occurs to her while they're talking: does he like being a police officer (yes), what's his favorite thing about it (he says helping people too, which makes John feel weird), does he eat blueberries. He says yes to the blueberries, and to liking cats, and to liking Chessie.

Krista finally asks them if they'd like to join her and her daughters for lunch, and they all have a picnic on the rocks by the river. It's cute and kind of pleasant and Dorian is more than patient with the kids. Both of them, because when Chessie asks if he likes cats her sister asks if he has one, and somehow Dorian manages to say no without making it sound like he lives in a prison.

More like a college dorm, John thinks. The way Dorian explains it, anyway. If John didn't know that Dorian hated it, he might think it sounded all right. The kids seem fooled by it, at least.

"Nice of you to answer their questions," he says later, when they're walking alone on a trail that John definitely doesn't remember. Not the he really remembered the first one.

"They were interested," Dorian says. It's a less direct answer than he usually gives.

John glances sideways at him. "You okay?"

"Yes," Dorian says. "Are you?"

John frowns. It's a simple question, and Dorian's turned it back on him like that before. But it seems different this time.

"Yeah," he says. "I guess."

"How far would you like to go?" Dorian asks. When John glances at him again, he adds, "On this trail?"

John shrugs. "Your call," he says. "Nice day for a walk."

"It is," Dorian agrees.

And that's all they say until they reach the rock face that must serve as a destination for underage teenagers. There's a small cave with an obvious campfire ring, graffiti on the interior and some on the exterior. Logs and stones have been pulled inside, and there are empties near the opening. The only thing that's unexpected is the way they're stacked: empty bottles and cans piled on top of each other instead of strewn about. Like someone was coming back for them.

"Someone's camping here," Dorian says.

John frowns. "What makes you say that?"

Dorian raises an eyebrow. "The obvious signs of habitation?"

"You mean the illegal fire and the littering?" John rolls his eyes. "That's not someone living. That's a bunch of people partying where no one can find them."

"Ah." Dorian nods. "Underage drinkers."

"Probably," John says. "Not like anyone patrols up here at night."

"We could," Dorian says.

John frowns at him again. "What?"

"Tonight," Dorian says. "We could stay for the evening. To keep an eye on things."

John feels like he’s missing something. “Why would we do that?”

“So we don’t have to go back,” Dorian says.

“Oh.” Then he shakes his head. “Wait, you mean--you don’t want to go back tonight? Or you don’t want to go back… ever?”

“Tonight,” Dorian says. “Just tonight. Just this evening; I thought it would be nice to… be outside with you. While it gets dark.”

“What, you want to stargaze?” John asks. It’s automatic. It’s just a thing to say. He’s sure he’s missing something now, and he doesn’t know how to get it. To figure out what they’re really talking about.

Dorian would ask, he thinks. It’s worth a shot.

“What are we talking about?” John asks, in case that sort of thing works on people who aren’t him.

“I’d like to have sex with you,” Dorian says. “Again. Outside, this time.”

“Outside?” John says stupidly. “Why?”

Dorian doesn’t look anywhere near as confused as he feels. “Why not?”

“Because public indecency is illegal,” John blurts out.

“It’s only public if there are people around,” Dorian says.

“It’s more comfortable in a bed,” John counters.

“I don’t have a bed,” Dorian says. “And yours is under surveillance.”

It’s a fair point. And hey, it’s not like John’s against a little crazy here and there. It’s just that he feels like he should have seen this coming, and he didn’t, which makes him think that either he’s really bad at this or something’s happened.

Something’s happened. That’s what it is. Dorian’s checking his email; he’d know.

“What,” John says flatly. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re doing this for a reason,” John says. “I’m going to find out eventually. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m doing it because I want to spend time with you,” Dorian says. “And I liked having sex with you before. I think I’d like it again. I think you would too.”

“Yeah, but why now?” John says suspiciously. “Why here?”

Dorian’s quiet for a second or two, and John knows. He shouldn’t have asked. But he has to know.

“This may be our last chance,” Dorian says at last. He doesn’t sound wistful. He sounds apologetic, and it makes John’s blood run cold.

“Tell me,” he says. The words come out harsher than he meant them to.

“The questions have changed,” Dorian says. “The media inquiries to your email address changed this afternoon. They’re asking about your medical history.”

“So?” John demands. “Don’t make me drag it out of you, man.”

“You’re out of control,” Dorian says. “We’re--” He gestures between them, and it’s so human. “This thing, between us, it’s out of control. The department’s going to shut it down any way they can, and someone must have leaked your personnel file. Deliberately.”

“To make me look unfit for duty,” John guesses.

“To make your judgment of my qualifications invalid,” Dorian says. “You’re the only one who will defend me. The only one who can. They have to take you out of the picture before the public gets any more interested.”

“They could have done that any time,” John says, but even as he asks he knows the answer. “Why now?” Because it would have been easier to let interest die out and then shuffle them quietly into retirement. Or in Dorian’s case, “retirement.”

“Interest is still growing,” Dorian says. “You’ve received more media contact today than the last five days combined, and you’re not even visible. If someone doesn’t stop this soon, the city will turn you into a celebrity and the department won’t be able to touch you.”

“So you think they’re gonna stop it,” John says dumbly. They knew it was coming. They knew before this even started. But now, so close, it seems less like a rebellion and more like some kind of overwhelming horror.

“Yes,” Dorian says simply. “Best case scenario, you have a new partner by Monday.”

“If that’s your best case,” John retorts, “I don’t want to know what worst case looks like.”

All Dorian says is, “Neither do I.”

John walks out of the cave. There’s a path up and around, winding behind the rock face, and he follows it without looking back. He can hear Dorian behind him anyway, and he pushes through the overgrown spots until he can hear the river again.

He’s less angry by the time the trail ends at the water. The horror is retreating again, made distant by Dorian’s words and the closeness of the forest. These are the “fugitive hills,” after all. They could get lost here.

“We don’t have to go back,” he says abruptly. Dorian’s stopped beside him, staring at the most perfect swimming hole he’s seen in years. No wonder there’s a path.

“You’re not ready to run,” Dorian says. His tone is quiet, matter-of-fact. Not just less angry than John. Dorian doesn’t sound angry at all.

“And you are?” John wants it to sound incredulous, or skeptical at least. But he’s not, and it doesn’t. He thinks it comes out sounding resigned.

“I can’t answer that,” Dorian says.

“No,” John mutters. “Of course you can’t.”

There’s a moment where all he hears is the river, and then Dorian says, “I don’t want to leave you.”

That’s when he realizes: Dorian could disappear. Dorian thinks he could disappear, anyway, and if there’s one thing John’s learned it’s not to underestimate his partner.

He thought the worst thing that could happen was that they would take Dorian away from him. And it is, it’s the worst thing, there couldn’t be anything more terrible than having Dorian taken against his will. But Dorian could choose to go, too. Dorian could choose to leave him and he wouldn’t even say something first. To protect John, Dorian would up and run and that would be the end.

If John’s lucky that would be the end. He would never see or hear about Dorian again, because Dorian wouldn’t be caught. It would be infinitely better than seeing Dorian decommissioned. But it would still be the end.

He can’t tell Dorian not to go. He can’t even ask Dorian to warn him first, because Dorian would if he could. John has to believe that.

“You wanna swim?” John asks at last.

He can hear the smile in Dorian’s voice when he says, “Yeah. I do.”


	20. Chapter 20

John is in no way prepared to be out in the wilderness overnight. He doesn't have enough food or warm clothes, and he definitely doesn't want to sleep on the ground. And that's without counting his lack of a flashlight or ability to follow directions in the dark.

Still, swimming with Dorian inevitably involves removing clothing that he doesn't miss and activities that he considered exciting when he was a teenager. As an adult, he figures "scandalous" isn't wrong. He doesn't ask if Dorian's still connected to the department because it's probably better not to know, but he hopes he never sees himself skinny-dipping in front of a review board.

By the time they're jacking each other off on the far side of the pool, he figures his career is dead anyway and it doesn't matter anymore.

It's cooler out than he'd like when they try to dry off, but Dorian distracts him until he's warm again. John eats two energy bars and his second sandwich while Dorian wanders around the rocks, picking up the occasional downed branch or half-dry piece of wood. He doesn't say anything until Dorian heads down the path back to the cave.

"I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing," John calls after him. The little kid in him hopes Dorian is doing it, but this is conservation land. They're not allowed to start a fire.

“Come down and find out,” Dorian calls back, and John smiles. Only because Dorian can’t see him, he tells himself, but he knows it doesn’t matter. Dorian can do whatever the hell he wants. John’s not going to complain.

Dorian doesn’t build a fire, but he starts one. He’s got a branch in one hand, the end smouldering as he casts a red light on the interior stone. By the glow of--well, himself--he presses the blackened end of the branch against the wall and drags it down. Then he lifts it and makes a loop, and it takes John three seconds to figure out what he’s doing.

“Not enough graffiti here already?” he asks. He’s smiling. It was a losing battle all along. “You gotta add your own?”

“I understand that’s the tradition,” Dorian says. He’s making a large circle now, and John doesn’t need to see the next letter take shape to know what it will spell.

“Gimme a branch,” John says.

Dorian lights another one and hands it over. John lets it burn until the end is charred enough to leave a mark, and then he snubs it out in the makeshift firepit. It’s awkward but he eventually suffocates the fire into submission. He can see enough in Dorian’s glow to follow along underneath.

Dorian finishes his own name before John even gets done with the “J.” He hesitates, watching. John gets ready for a critique, but instead Dorian says, “Should I spell the word ‘and’ or draw a plus sign?”

John doesn’t ask how Dorian knows that’s important. “Plus sign,” he says, because he’s still high on sex and this is hard and stupid but there’s no one to see them. It’s funny how much less annoying things are when he’s not worried what someone else will think.

Dorian relights his own branch when he runs out of char, and he starts writing something where John’s name will finish. John rolls his eyes when he see what looks like a parenthesis. “What, are you punctuating now?”

“The most common types of written vandalism are two names put together and a name followed by ‘was here,’” Dorian says. “There’s two of us. I thought we could cover both.”

“Yeah,” John says. “Why only commit one act of vandalism when you could do two?”

“I think it’s still technically one act,” Dorian says. “Since we’re doing it together.”

“Sounds kind of dirty when you put it like that.” John’s finishing the “n” in his name when he gets what Dorian’s writing. It’s the words “were here” in parentheses. “Cute,” he adds.

“I’m glad you approve.” Dorian sounds amused and pleased, so John figures he’s doing something right. “Would you like to leave after this? We could find a bed that’s not being watched.”

It takes John a second to catch up. “Like a motel room?”

“There are other options,” Dorian says.

“No,” John says. “We didn’t stay in the woods past sunset just to leave before we look at the stars.” It’s not that dark out yet, but it will be soon. “Can you get us back to the car without a flashlight?”

“Of course,” Dorian says. “But I don’t think we’ll find an unobstructed view of the sky here.”

“Over the river will be fine,” John says. “We don’t have to see every single star.”

They don’t. But it’s dark enough that they see more in their little slice of sky than they would have seen across the entire heavens back home. The rocks still hold some warmth from the day, and it’s not uncomfortable. Especially when John gives up trying to find a way to pillow his head that doesn’t numb his hands and just rests it on Dorian’s chest instead.

John doesn’t ask first, and Dorian doesn’t say anything. While they’re watching the sky darken, though, he feels Dorian worm his arm out from under John’s back. A hand rests tentatively on John’s arm a moment later. John reaches over and puts his own hand on top of it, and they stare upward until even the dimmest stars begin to look bright.

“Okay,” John says after a while, and the whisper sounds loud and out of place. “But we’re not going to a motel.”

Dorian doesn’t answer.

“We’re going back to my place,” John says. “It’s still private property. They can take pictures, but they can’t actually get to us inside.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Dorian says quietly. “People have been trying to hack your security system for days. If they’ve succeeded, I might not detect it right away.”

John thinks about that. He thinks about publicity, and what Dorian can do, and how Dorian can lie by telling the truth. Finally he says, “Are you planning to sneak off? Is that why you want to go somewhere else?”

He should have expected the answer he gets. “I can’t tell you that,” Dorian says, very softly. It’s weird, but that’s what makes John realize his chest is moving, rising and falling like he’s breathing: until it stops, just then. With his words.

Like he’s holding his breath.

John closes his eyes. He can’t lose Dorian. He can’t watch Dorian die. Dorian is all he has left, and he deserves more than John can give him.

“Okay,” he tells the darkness.

He feels Dorian’s chest rise again, but John feels like he can’t breathe.

Walking out of the woods is one of the hardest things he’s done. Which is saying something, considering how much crap he’s been through. But it’s dark, and he can’t see, and Dorian ends up holding his hand. It’s only practical, and it keeps John from falling more than a dozen times.

But as close as Dorian stays, John feels like he’s slipping away the entire time. He almost can’t get in the car when they finally make it back to the trailhead. It must have taken hours. He doesn’t bother to check the time. He doesn’t want to know.

He’s been wearing his jacket ever since they laid down to look at the stars. Dorian hands him rations from the car and taps the GPS while John settles into the driver’s seat. “Do you trust me?” Dorian asks, leaning back in his own seat.

John scoffs. “You just guided me blind down a rocky trail out of the mountains next to rushing water with one light.”

“I’m very skilled,” Dorian says.

“Of course I trust you,” John snaps. “What kind of a question is that?”

“It wasn’t meant to be life-altering,” Dorian says mildly. “I have a suggestion that isn’t a motel and might be borderline illegal. I could tell you before we get there, but I don’t want to listen to you complain the whole way.”

“I won’t complain,” John says.

“Not if I don’t tell you where we’re going,” Dorian agrees. “No.”

John sighs, but he starts the car and follows the directions, because what else can he do? He’s not going home. Apparently. And Dorian’s not going. Yet. It has to be enough.

“Richard,” Dorian says suddenly.

“No,” John says. “John.”

“Funny,” Dorian says, but he sounds like he’s smiling. John doesn’t look over at him, even when he says, “Richard just sent you a message.”

“I’m not answering my phone today,” John says.

“I noticed,” Dorian says. “Richard messaged me as well.”

“What’s he say?”

“Make sure he’s there,” Dorian says.

John frowns. “Is that my message, or yours?”

“Mine,” Dorian says. “Yours says to show up at the Northern Light tomorrow night, by seven, and to bring me.”

Before John can figure out what to say to that, Dorian adds, “He says you should be there if you want to keep your partner.”

“What the hell does that mean?” John snaps.

“I don’t know,” Dorian says. “He didn’t answer when I asked.”

He must be back in touch with the department, because John can see network paths lighting up blue out of the corner of his eye. They’re furious and calming at the same time. John can’t turn and stare, but he wishes he could. He wishes he could just stare.

“Chessie Herbadour,” Dorian says. Then, before John can correct him again, he says, “Apparently her school blog is part of the kindergarten news.”

“Good for her,” John mutters.

“Her school posts news by grade,” Dorian says. “Publicly.”

“So you didn’t have to hack anything to stalk her?” John asks.

“So she included my unit designation in her report,” Dorian says. “The national news agencies picked it up.”

“What?” John says. “Already? What did she write?”

“She wrote that I was working at Northstar Campground today,” Dorian says. “That I acted as lifeguard and nature guide in addition to my typical policing duties and kept everyone at the river safe. Also, I like blueberries and cats.”

“She did not say that,” John says.

“I recall her asking both those questions,” Dorian replies. “She’s correct; I did say yes.”

“Not the part about blueberries and cats,” John retorts.

“I paraphrased the content of her report,” Dorian says. “It’s very complimentary. She even mentions you at the very end. She says you like to help people, too.”

“Great,” John says. “What does anyone care? They pissed you were off-duty again?”

“That question has been raised,” Dorian says. “It’s largely overwhelmed by discussion of the nature of DRNs. Most of the major agencies are resurrecting footage of DRNs interacting with the public before the mass decommissioning. Children feature prominently, no doubt due to Chessie’s inspiration.”

There’s a brief pause, and John wonders how many newscasts he reviews in those few seconds. “It’s interesting,” Dorian says then, “that they seem to be equating Chessie with you.”

“What?” John asks. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

“DRNs are good with children,” Dorian says. “As well as the mentally unstable, medically compromised, and emotionally overwrought. It’s why we were brought onto the force to begin with. We’re empathetic to those under a wide variety of stressors.”

“Wait,” John says again. “Which one of those am I?”

“You’ve been connected to our work with veterans,” Dorian says. Then he adds, just to be obnoxious, John’s sure, “And to child survivors of violence and disaster.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” John says.

“I do,” Dorian says. “The medical history leak is making you look sympathetic instead of incompetent.”

John snorts. “Oh, well. Great. Anything that makes me look less incompetent.”

“Yes,” Dorian says, but he sounds distracted. “Several editorials have already been released asking why the DRNs were decommissioned in the first place.”

It’s kind of a leap, in John’s mind, but Dorian likes it. Dorian obviously likes it. So John keeps his mouth shut and lets him scan. He thinks of Sandra, suddenly, but he’s not sure why. He figures she’ll get him whatever highlights Dorian skips.

In the meantime, he follows directions and drives.


	21. Chapter 21

"Sandra's calling," Dorian says, just as they're finally turning off the old state park road onto something that has actual lights.  "She says you should pick up."

If he hadn't just been thinking of her, he might have argued.  He almost argues anyway.  But Dorian's still lit up blue, probably interrupting something way more interesting just to monitor John's phone calls.  Which John should be doing himself.

"Let me hear it," John says.

"Dorian, I know you're with him."  Sandra's voice is strange in the car, not out of context but unexpected and upsetting for everything she represents.  She's his oldest living friend.  She's also his boss.

"Sandra," John says.  "What's up?"

"Thank you," she says.  "Where are you?"

"Don't know," John says.  It's even the truth; he has no idea what they're doing on this road or where in the city it is.  "Where are you?"

"At work," she says.  "They called me in to grill me about you."

John glances at the GPS just in case it suddenly says "leave the country" or something.  "Oh?" he says, trying not to sound freaked out and paranoid.  It's probably a waste of time.

"I think you can win this," Sandra says.

If he tries to answer, it'll come out wrong.  He'll laugh, or he'll choke, or he'll slap on the siren and they'll just scream down the road in protest of everything in the entire world.  He doesn't say anything, but he can see the dance of blue light under Dorian's skin.  He puts a hand on Dorian's knee without looking.  

Just for a second, then he goes to pull it away, but Dorian's hand comes down on his and they're frozen like that while she says, "Losing means that Dorian’s deactivated and you're dismissed.  They're after you, John.  They're after both of you."

He squeezes Dorian's leg hard, but he manages to say, "What else is new."

"Winning means you get to keep your job," Sandra says.  "And Dorian."

"I don't care about my job," John growls.

"If you care about Dorian," she says, "you have to fight this."

"What do you think we've been doing," John snaps.  "What do you think we're doing, right now, on a Saturday night when I'd rather be home in bed!"

"I think you're going off grid," Sandra says.  "I think you're running.  I think if you disappear tonight, you lose any chance you have of making this work."

John stares at the road in front of them.  The lit road, too small for traffic sensors.  Motels have facial rec.  He hasn’t passed a camera since they left the precinct all morning.

He doesn’t look at Dorian, because he won’t be able to tell from his expression and that will irritate the fuck out of him.  “Are we running?” he asks through gritted teeth.  He expects Dorian to know who he’s talking to.

Sandra must know too, because neither of them answer.

He slams on the brakes, hits the hazards, and pulls over.  No traffic sensors.  No help coming.  He turns to stare at Dorian.  “Are we running,” he says flatly.

Dorian is looking back at him, and John thought he wouldn’t be able to tell.  He thought he wouldn’t know, but he’s wrong.  All the blue is gone from Dorian’s face.  He doesn’t say anything, but John can read the words on his lips: _I can’t tell you._

“Turn around,” Sandra says.  “I don’t know what you’re driving, but get back in your car and go home.  Or come here.  I don’t have a charger for Dorian, but I could get one.  You need to be somewhere where people can find you tonight.”

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Dorian.  They’re both dark in the shadows of the car: no light on Dorian’s face, no signal on John’s phone except what Dorian’s patching through from Sandra.  No indication that they’re anyone at all in the grand scheme of things.

He can’t make this call.

Dorian is waiting for him to do it, and he can’t.  What gives him the right?

“It’s not up to me,” John says at last.

Dorian’s eyes widen.

Sandra gets it right away.  “Dorian,” she says.  “You need to turn around.  Give us 24 hours.  Give John 24 hours.  If you don’t show up to work Monday morning, then I don’t know anything.  But give us until then, okay?”

It’s not fair.  She’s his boss too.  She’s human, he’s not, and she’s telling him what to do.  It sounds like a question but it isn’t and Dorian knows it.

John doesn’t say anything.

“We were investigating signs of illegal land use,” Dorian says at last.  “Evidence indicated a nocturnal operation.  We were out late, but I assure you, we’re on our way back to the precinct now.”

“Not the precinct,” Sandra says.  “Too dangerous.  Don’t give them that kind of access.  Disconnect John’s portable charger from the network and use that tonight.  You understand me?”

“Yes,” Dorian says obediently.  John winces.  “I understand.”

“We’re going,” John says.  “Good night.  Disconnect call,” he adds, just in case the car is taking his instructions.

Neither of them move.

Finally John asks, “How come she doesn’t know what we’re driving?”

“I removed your car from the surveillance grid when we left the parking lot a few minutes ago,” Dorian said.  “To anyone looking remotely, it’s still there.”

“Huh,” John says.  “And the cameras in the car?”

“Disabled,” Dorian says.  “Of course.”

“Of course,” John mutters.

“I wouldn’t have abducted you,” Dorian tells him.  “You believe that, right?”

John frowns at him.  “Why would you abduct me?”

“I wouldn’t,” Dorian says vehemently.  “It was only ever about giving you a choice.  I’m not going to leave without telling you.”

“What the hell is going on?” John wants to know.  “Do you have a secret plan to disappear or not?  Does Sandra know about it?  Were you going to do it tonight?  You still can, you know.  We don’t have to go home just because she says so.

“Not that I want you to,” he adds, when he sees Dorian’s expression.  “I don’t want you to leave.  But I can’t let you stay.  Not if they’re going to--”

He can’t finish, and they end up staring at each other in silence while he tries to remember what was so important.  “Do what you gotta do,” he mutters.  “That’s all I’m saying.  I’ll help however I can.”

Dorian nods slowly, but all he says is, “Sandra isn’t in on it.  She just put things together quickly.”

“Faster than me,” John grumbles.  “Yeah, I know.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Dorian says.  John thinks he’s trying not to smile.

John looks out the windshield again, because he’s not kidding about this and maybe he’ll be able to read Dorian’s face again.  Maybe he doesn’t want to this time.  “I’m not joking,” he says.  “We don’t have to go back.”

Dorian doesn’t hesitate.  “Sandra thinks we can win.”

“Well, Sandra also thinks you’re good for me,” John says.  What he means is, _she thinks I’m good for you,_ which is clearly the less believable statement.  “She’s obviously confused.”

“She’s right,” Dorian says.  “And you’re good for me.  Maybe she’s right about this too.”

“You said you didn’t want to go back to my place,” John says.  “You said the security system could be compromised.”

“I’ll check it,” Dorian says.  “Before we go in.”

“This is a terrible idea,” John says.

“Why?” Dorian wants to know.

“I don’t know,” John snaps.  “It just is.  I don’t like any of it.”

“I like being with you,” Dorian says.

“You can’t expect me to enjoy anything with a 24-hour deadline hanging over my head!” John exclaims.  The worst part is that he knows how it sounds, he knows it’s childish, it’s a lot less grace than Dorian’s ever shown about anything, and he still can’t stop.

It isn’t anger driving the words.  It’s fear.

“That’s more time than I thought we had,” Dorian says evenly.  He’s so calm, so fucking reasonable, that John can’t even pitch a fit.  Maybe DRNs really are the perfect officer.

“I hate this,” John mutters.

“I could drop you off,” Dorian says.  His tone hasn’t changed.  He sounds totally calm when he says, “I could drop you at your house and leave the car.  Sandra wouldn’t have to know until tomorrow.”

That he’s gone, he means.  John understands immediately and if there was anything that could make this worse, it’s Dorian trying to sacrifice the only thing he wants out of this just to make John less uncomfortable.  “Don’t you dare,” John says.

Dorian does smile, then.  “So we’ll wait,” he says.

John sighs, changing the signal to indicate they’re trying to merge with non-existent traffic.  “We’ll wait,” he grumbles.  “There better not be anyone watching the house.”

There’s someone watching the house.  Possibly multiple someones, but at least they’re not there in person, which means Dorian can block their feed.  He could probably block the satellite links, given enough time, but Sandra wants them to be found.  Dorian reinforces the security instead before giving the all clear.

At least there’s food in the house.  Not a lot, but John’s fine with pickles and peanut butter at this point.  Dorian checks all the privacy screens, disconnects the charger, and does a second security run through in the amount of time it takes John to wolf down a sandwich.  He’s making another one when Dorian comes back into the kitchen.

“You have five hundred and three media requests,” Dorian tells him.  “I’m moving them to a separate folder so that you can access your personal email more easily.”

John swallows the first bite of his second sandwich and says, “You’re not my secretary, you know.”

“You agreed to let Valerie and I handle whatever media representation PR leaves to you,” Dorian says.  “Which right now is all of it.  I’m just trying to keep you from using it as an excuse not to read the rest of your messages.”

“Boring,” John says, getting out a beer.  “You want anything?”

“You,” Dorian says, and John doesn’t know why it’s a surprise but somehow it still is.

He manages to pop the cap anyway, then points his sandwich at Dorian.  “Me and you and bed, right?  That’s where this is going?”

“Preferably without the food,” Dorian says.

John just shakes his head.  It may or may not distract Dorian from the way he swallows.  Being tired and turned on at the same time is a terrible combination, and he can’t even complain because what if this is it?

“Don’t know what you’re missing.”  He tries to smile and he mostly fails.

Dorian said he’d wouldn’t leave without telling him.  But what good does saying it really do?  They both know it’s coming.  If he wakes up in the middle of the night to Dorian kissing him goodbye, how is that better than finding him gone the next morning?

“Not yet,” Dorian agrees.  He does smile, and the tolerantly fond look is so familiar that John relaxes without trying.  “I’m sure I’m about to hear more than I need to know on the subject.”

Of course it’s better, John reminds himself.  He may not be able to sleep, but at least he can close his eyes.  Dorian won’t vanish while he’s not paying attention.

“Hear about it,” John says.  “Hear about it?”  He might not have any more whipped cream.  He’ll have to check.  But he definitely has ice cream, and maple syrup, and probably even leftover cake frosting.  

He points at Dorian again.  For emphasis.  “You, my friend, are going to get a thorough physical education in this subject.”

If Rudy thought gum was bad, John will make sure he never hears the end of this.


	22. Chapter 22

He makes the mistake of sitting down on the couch.  It’s the last thing he’s aware of until he feels Dorian shaking him awake.  Dorian’s here, he thinks he’s at work, it’s daytime and he’s supposed to be doing something.  He doesn’t understand what Dorian’s saying.

“Hey,” Dorian says again, quiet and fond.  Definitely not at work.  “You awake?”

John relaxes for one sweet moment.  He’s at home, and Dorian’s with him.  This is a good day.  “Yeah,” he mumbles.  “What’s going on?”

“Sorry to get you up,” Dorian says.  “But I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“What,” John says.  It comes back like fear in the face of danger and he bolts upright, grabbing for his leg.  Still there.  “You’re leaving?  Now?”

“No,” Dorian says, talking over him.  “Sorry, no, Val invited me to lunch.  She’s bringing Jake.  She says you should come too.”

“Jake?”  He remembers Valerie telling him to stay away from Jake.  “The Jake she dated?  That Jake?”

“She says he wants to help,” Dorian says.

“Since when do Chromes help?” John grumbles.

“I heard you tell Chessie that all androids are different,” Dorian tells him.  “Why don’t you believe the same is true of Chromes?”

“I don’t have a problem with Val,” John says with a sigh.

“What about me?” Dorian asks.

John scrubs his hands over his face.  “What about you,” he mutters, because he can already tell this is an argument he’s going to lose.  Why are they even arguing?  Why doesn’t he have coffee right now?

“Telling me that you don’t like androids is offensive,” Dorian says.  “Even if you like me, not liking what I am is… contradictory, at best.”

“I do like you,” John insists.  The fuck is this conversation about?  “Doesn’t matter if you’re an android or not.”

“It matters to me,” Dorian says.  “I’m an android, John.  I’m not ashamed of that.”

“Well, that’s the difference between you and Val,” John says.  “You like being an android.  She doesn’t like being a Chrome.  So I can say whatever I want.  Can I get some coffee now?”

“You don’t like humans,” Dorian says.  “You’d still be angry if I criticized them.”

“No I wouldn’t,” John tells him.  “Humans are stupid.  Criticize away.”

“It’s not that you’re stupid,” Dorian says.  “It’s that you’re petty and small-minded in the one area where you excel, which is relating to others.  It’s the only thing humans do with any distinction, yet you continue to sabotage yourselves with childish squabbles over things you don’t need or care about but still fear losing to someone else.”

“Hey,” John protests.

Dorian smiles at him, and his fake innocence is as condescending as a smirk.  “I don’t have a problem with _you,_ John.”

“Okay, fine,” John says, and it’s testy but he just woke up.  “I get it.”  He was asleep five minutes ago, and it’s only--what time is it, anyway?

“You don’t have to come to lunch,” Dorian says.  It sounds like there’s an unspoken “if you’re going to be like this” attached.  “I’m sure Valerie will understand.”

“I’m going to lunch!” John exclaims.  “I’m sorry, okay?  Whatever I said, I didn’t mean to.  It’s fucking early and I have no idea what’s going on.  Are you ditching me or what?”

“No,” Dorian says.  “I think this is part of the plan.”

John closes his eyes.  He really doesn’t have time to count to ten.  “What plan,” he says, as carefully as he can.

“I don’t know,” Dorian says.  “It sounded like Sandra had a plan when she was talking to you last night.  I assumed Valerie was in on it.”

“Why?” John says, because he’s irritated and he can’t let it go.  “I’m not in on yours.”

Dorian doesn’t answer, and John slides his hands over his eyes again.  He leans over and rests his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, while he wonders what the hell they’re doing.  It feels pathetic, and he lifts his head when the couch dips beside him, but he doesn’t look over at Dorian.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian says quietly.  “This is hard.  I don’t know how to make it easier.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” John mutters, but he gets it.  He gets that Dorian wants to, because he does too.  He doesn’t even know if it’s possible, let alone how to do it.

“I know,” Dorian says.

It makes John exhale, something almost like a smile in the sense of relief.  They’re okay.  Somehow.  He doesn’t know how much longer it will last, but right now they’re okay.

“I’ll tell you if you want to know,” Dorian says after a moment.

John doesn’t have the energy to frown.  “Tell me what?”

“You asked if I thought about running,” Dorian says.

John’s shaking his head before Dorian finishes the sentence.  His brain has picked this minute to wake up, and he’s glad.  “You may not know this about me,” John says, talking over Dorian until he stops.  “But I’m terrible at keeping secrets.  You made the right call.”

John looks over at him when Dorian doesn’t say anything, but Dorian’s staring at the floor.  Or through it.  There’s something in front of his eyes that John can’t see.

“I’m not good at knowing what things will mean,” Dorian says at last.  “To other people.  To you.  Thank you for working with that.”

“Living with that,” John corrects firmly.  “Like you live with me, man, that’s just what we do.  No one’s perfect.  But we’re better together, right?”

“Right,” Dorian says, catching his eye.  He smiles when he sees John’s expression.  “We are, yeah.”

“So let’s go to lunch,” John says with a sigh.  This means he has to get up.  He’ll have to find clothes, use the bathroom, make some coffee.  So much for a day off.

It’s only as he’s standing up that he thinks about hiking yesterday--all his muscles remembering the unfamiliar activity--and that slides straight into last night.  “I fell asleep,” he realizes.  “Wait a minute.  I was--we were going to--”

He turns around, and this time Dorian’s definitely smirking.  The knowing grin he gives John from the couch isn’t at all what he was expecting.  “Never mind,” John mutters.  He retreats as quickly as he can without adding to his embarrassment.

He was tired.  It’s not early now; it’s past ten and he still wouldn’t be awake if Dorian hadn’t made it happen.  But he’s damned lucky: Dorian could have left any time and he wouldn't even know yet.  He’s almost glad for Val’s stupid lunch invitation.

Almost.  He’s glad to be awake.  But he’d rather be eating food off of Dorian than out of some fancy restaurant chosen by Chromes.  He probably doesn’t own anything nice enough to wear wherever they’re going, so he doesn’t bother.

Dorian borrows clothes from him.  Watching him change weakens John’s resolve to go anywhere.  Seeing him in the clothes isn't much better, so John delivers a warning about footsie and ignores him as best he can.

That lasts the minute and a half it takes to get out to the car.  Then they’re fighting over the company again, the menu, directions to the damned place.  Dorian doesn’t remind him he can stay home, though.  Because this is what they do.  They'll just keep doing it until things settle out.

If they settle out.  If they don't, it won't matter anyway.

Val and Jake are already inside when they arrive.  He and Dorian are underdressed, of course.  But it's not obviously a Chrome club, and Jake shuts the hell up when Val talks, both of which do a lot for John’s mood.  

Dorian was right.  There is a plan, and Val’s definitely in on it.  Somehow it looks like she’s convinced Jake to be in on it too.  John thought they stopped seeing each other months ago.  Either he’s wrong or there’s no hard feelings, because Jake is only as condescending to Dorian as he is to everyone else.

More importantly, Jake knows every important person in the city.  John’s torn between hoping they all hate him, because that would make him feel better about the city’s taste in friends, and grudgingly wishing that Jake’s magical powers of schmoozing are as good as he thinks they are.  If he can make the threat of decommissioning go away, John will keep his mouth shut and owe Jake whatever favor he wants.

With a weird kind of clarity, John wonders if this is why Chromes win.  Because they can do the human thing, the thing Dorian was talking about: they relate to other people.  They’re genetically programmed to be good at everything.  Of course they’re good at this.

Dorian’s programmed to be good at everything too.  But he lives in a pod while Jake owns several downtown buildings.  Watching the polite back-and-forth across the table, John can’t figure out why genes make such a difference.


	23. Chapter 23

The afternoon is a write-off.  Jake invites Dorian to an art gallery and John has to go with them.  He knows perfectly well Jake isn't interested in his presence, and the feeling is mutual.  But he's not stupid: Jake is raising Dorian's profile just by talking to him, and making him a guest at an event attended by Chromes is no small thing.

"Thank you," John tells Valerie.  They're standing together on a balcony while the crowd moves on without them.  Dorian is speaking with an older couple that Jake introduced him to, close enough to overhear but out of the way enough to be polite.  "For this."

Chromes don't hear as well as androids, but they don't miss things, either.  Valerie just says, "He offered."

John gives her a sideways glance.  She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and he hears what she doesn't say: he offered because she asked.  He wouldn't have offered because John asked, but at least Jake's smart enough to know good people when he meets them.

He can’t say the same for Richard, but Dorian is the one who brings it up.  It’s not quite evening when he says, “We’re meeting someone at seven,” and Valerie nods like that makes perfect sense.

“Of course,” Jake says.  “You’ll want to change.  Can I make any arrangements?”

John glances at Dorian and finds him looking back.  They’re not going to change.  He has no idea what kind of arrangements Jake’s talking about.  But he does need groceries if he wants to eat breakfast tomorrow, and if they’re being let go then he can’t question it.

“We’re fine,” John says.  They have a car.  “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” Jake says.  “Dorian, the conversation was… illuminating.  I hope I see you again soon.”

“I hope so too,” Dorian says.  “Thank you for having us.”

John can’t even roll his eyes, because someone will see.  And it’s not a stupid conversation: if he complains, someone will mention the very real possibility that none of them are going to see Dorian again.  Ever.

So he keeps his mouth shut while Dorian and Val say goodbye, and then he gets half an hour to buy breakfast food that he hopes he still cares about tomorrow.  Dorian insists they get to the bar before seven, which leaves about enough time to put stuff away and steal as many kisses as he can.  He doesn’t count.  Dorian probably does.

He isn’t excited about going back to a place where they were illegally recorded and a conversation he barely wanted Dorian to hear was broadcast for anyone who knew how to search their names on the internet.  It annoys him even more than doing what Richard tells him to, since he’s pretty sure Richard’s doing something he shouldn’t and John still wants to find out what it is.  Both of these things are more of a problem for him than going to the bar itself, which he doesn’t hate and probably wouldn’t mind drinking at on a normal night.

There aren’t any normal nights anymore.  When they get there, though, they’re intercepted immediately.  “Detective Kennex?  Dorian?”  A woman in a black t-shirt and the bar logo knows them both by name, and John doesn’t even know if she’s human or not.

“Yes,” he says.  It comes out short and irritated, which is how he’s feeling.

“The manager asked me to convey our apologies,” she says.  “The establishment respects the privacy of its patrons, and anyone caught recording or reporting here is asked to leave.”

“Oh yeah?”  He figures she’s a bot now that he’s heard her talk, but he’s not sure if her speech is meant to be slick or sympathetic.  “Before or after they break the law?”

She doesn’t seem taken aback.  Definitely a bot, he thinks.  

“As soon as we identify them,” she says.  “Anything you care to order this evening is on the house.  Please enjoy your evening.”

"Thank you," Dorian says when John can't.

She nods and moves on.

"Thank you?" John repeats.

"There's no need to be rude," Dorian says.  "We did choose to return."

"I remember being threatened to return," John says.  “Or else.

"I remember dancing," Dorian says.  "With you.  It was nice."

He's looking at the improvised dance floor to the right of the bar, bright lights and loud music and a crowd you could get stabbed in without anyone noticing.  Do bots get stabbed?  John's not up on his bot-on-bot crime stats.

"This isn't that kind of dancing," John says.

"So you'll try it without waiting to cut in first?" Dorian replies.

John isn't sure what happens, but he ends up holding Dorian's hand as they make their way toward the dancing, so whatever it is probably wasn't his idea.  He's a terrible club dancer.  So is Dorian, as it turns out, but if they know anyone here John can't tell.  It might be more funny than it is embarrassing.

Dorian orders him a beer afterwards.  “Should have done that before,” John says, and Dorian gets it because he smiles.  

“Maybe I expect you to dance again,” Dorian tells him.

John doesn’t bother to protest.  “Find us a game first,” he says.  “What do they play here, anyway?”  There aren’t any pool tables, and he can’t really picture robots playing darts.  Wouldn’t they all be perfect at it?

“Checkers,” Dorian says.

“What?”  John’s already following his gaze, and yeah.  There’s two people playing checkers in a booth against the far wall.  They’re the only ones, so it’s clearly not a bar game.  He frowns.  “Who is that?”

“MX-646,” Dorian says.  “Given your proven inability to remember anyone’s designation, should I assume you don’t recognize Detective Paul’s partner?”

John looks at him, then back at the booth.  “I mean the checker players,” he says.  “Where’s Richard?”

“At the bar,” Dorian says.  “His MX is playing checkers.”

John looks at him again.  They’re definitely looking at the same booth.  “What are you talking about?  She looks familiar, okay?  I know I’ve seen--”

He gets it at the same moment Dorian figures out what he’s asking.

“You mean Commissioner Camden?” Dorian says.

“Wait, that’s an MX?”  John turns to stare again.  Camden.  He should have known.  There’s five of them on the board; he can’t keep them all straight.  Right now he’s more weirded out by the fact that the blonde guy sitting across from her is Richard’s work buddy.

Dorian doesn’t answer, and John finally gets the real question.  “Richard’s MX is playing checkers with Camden?”

Dorian doesn’t say, _That must be why Richard wanted us to come,_ but he doesn’t have to.  This is what he wanted them to see.  This is what he wanted them to know, that someone on the board likes androids enough to play checkers with them at a robot bar.

“Why don’t you join Detective Paul at the bar,” Dorian says, in a way that’s not really a question.  “I’ll inquire about the game.”

“You’ll what?”  John gives him a skeptical look.

“I can make conversation,” Dorian says.  “Better than you, I might add.  In fact, maybe you shouldn’t talk to anyone until I get back.”

“You’re hilarious,” John tells him.  “Don’t steal their board game.”

“Get bored with dancing?” Richard’s voice asks, before John can turn back to the bar.

“Letting the kids have a chance,” John says without looking.  He keeps his eyes on Dorian as he approaches potentially unfriendly territory.  “You come here every Sunday?”

He expects Richard to deny it, but all he says is, “Pretty much.”

“To do what?” John asks.  “Play checkers?”  Dorian isn’t turned away.

“I don’t play,” Richard says, like it’s a competitive sport.  But then, what isn’t with him.  “Partner likes it.  You want another drink?”

John pauses.  Too much goes through his head, from the easy way Richard says “partner” to what John wouldn’t do for his own.  He makes a split-second decision not to question, and he spends the rest of the night being glad.  Everyone in here can hear him, after all.

“Yeah,” he says instead.  “I think I do.”


	24. Chapter 24

Three hours later he wishes he's still drinking, but the beer's in the car and he's not going back out to get it.  He's at home, which is an improvement, and he's on the couch with Dorian, which is weird but pretty good.  They're watching a news feed full of Sunday night human interest stories about DRNs, which is less good.

Except that it does exactly what they want it to, which is to draw so much attention to Dorian that the department can't shut him down.  That's what makes John remember.  "This is what PR was afraid of," he says aloud.

"Good publicity?" Dorian suggests.  It's ironic on purpose, John's sure.

So he says, "Yeah.  Sandra said, last weekend--"  Was it only last weekend?  "They don't want anyone looking too closely at why the DRNs were decommissioned."

Dorian doesn’t answer, and they’re probably better off not talking about it anyway.  John didn’t think much of the mass decommissioning at the time: just another piece of technology that didn’t work out the way they’d planned.  He definitely doesn’t want to remember it now.  

It’s weird watching a bunch of people with Dorian’s face doing stuff he’s never seen Dorian do.  It’s weirder seeing them in uniform, working on the force with partners… doing exactly what he sees Dorian do.  He closes his eyes after a while, because Dorian turned it on and John wants to be with him but watching is messing with his head.

He loses track of time.  He doesn’t think he falls asleep, but when Dorian says quietly, “Eleven twenty-three,” he knows it’s that late.  He opens his eyes.

  
The news is muted, which isn’t what he wanted and he didn’t even notice.  Dorian hasn’t moved from where he sat down.  John is slumped over, braced against the back of the couch and only a couple of inches from having his head on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” John mutters, pushing himself up.  “I’m awake.  What are you--what’s going on?”

He doesn’t mean anything by it.  Dorian answers, though, and it clears his grogginess and leaves him cold.

“Twenty-four hours,” Dorian says.

There’s nothing he can say.  He doesn’t have to ask.  It’s a deadline he couldn 't forget, no matter how carelessly Sandra said it or how much he didn’t want to think about it.  He wishes Dorian could.  He’s glad he didn’t.

John forces himself to reach for his phone when the seconds pass with no further warning.  “Sandra,” he says.

She picks up, and all she says is, “Hey.”  He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“You alone?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says.  “Yeah, I am.”  There’s a brief hesitation before she adds, “You?”

That’s a loaded question, and the pause means that she knows it.  “I’m not riding with another partner,” John tells her.

“I know,” she says.  “You’ve made that very clear.”

He doesn’t look at Dorian.  “Should I come in to work tomorrow?” he asks, staring straight ahead.  The muted screen is showing Dorian now, and John can tell it’s Dorian even if he doesn’t remember that interview.  “Or should I just quit now?”

This time there’s no hesitation.  “Are you watching the news?”

“Yeah,” he tells the projected screen.  “We are.”

Which answers her question, but maybe she didn’t need an answer, because all she says is, “Come in to work tomorrow, John.”

She sounds very sure of herself.  It's been enough for him in the past, but this time it's Dorian they're talking about.  It's someone else's life if she's wrong.

"You think it's working," John says.  It's a question, and he needs an answer.

"I'm looking at the proof," she says.

"The news?"  The news has blown one way and then another, and publicity is a fickle friend.  He doesn't see it proving anything.

“No,” Sandra says.  “The press release in my hand detailing your availability for the next two weeks.  Along with the assignment of a press agent specifically to Delta division.”

John sits up, because something is happening and he doesn’t know what it is.  It sounds important.  “What does that mean?” he wants to know.  He looks at Dorian and finds him looking back: he’s listening too.

“It means PR is taking over your publicity,” Sandra says.  “You don’t have to fly solo, and you don’t get left in the wind.”

John tries to read Dorian’s expression and fails completely.  “What if we want to be in the wind?” he asks, because Dorian had a plan.  Dorian had someone helping him, maybe more than one, and he could do it.  He could go.

John could go with him.

“Then I guess I won’t see you tomorrow morning,” Sandra says.  “This is as good as it gets, John.  This is the best we can hope for.  If it’s not enough, then I understand.  But if it’s a choice between looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life and letting the entire city do it for you, I know which one I’d pick.”

It’s an easy choice to make when it sounds like that.  But the city was in love with DRNs once before, and then suddenly it wasn’t.  “I live in this city too,” John says.  “I don’t trust it.”

“Running won’t change that,” Sandra says.  “All it does is takes you away from the people you do trust.”

There’s nothing he can say to that.  When he sees Dorian’s face, though, he knows it wasn’t aimed at him.  He knew he shouldn’t have said “we.”

When no one answers, Sandra says, “Tell Dorian we appreciate his help, all right?”

“Uh-huh.”  John doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be a callback, or a secret message, or what.  Maybe she’s really just thanking him.  John’s tired of not knowing what’s going on.  “Who’s our press agent?”

“The assignment’s confidential until tomorrow,” Sandra says.  Then she adds, “I’m sending you her profile now,” so John figures either it’s not that confidential, or Sandra thinks knowing will make a difference.

He sees Dorian nod.  “She’s all right?” John asks, because no way did Dorian not look her up instantly.

“She has a record of managing media representation for artificial intelligence,” Dorian says.  It’s the first time he’s spoken since he reminded John of the deadline, and it’s reassuring in a way John didn’t know he was waiting for.  “She was picked up as a media consultant for the department from Pegasus Potential three years ago.  Notable contributions include the ‘Meet your MX’ program and the viral ‘hugs not drugs’ campaign.”

It takes John a couple of seconds to put that together.  “Oh, she’s just gonna love you,” he says before he can think.

“This could make her career,” Sandra says.  “And yours.  Don’t think she doesn’t know it.”

“Or it could crash and burn,” John says.

He doesn’t need to see Sandra to know she shrugs.  “It could,” she says.  “If you run, it will.  You get to decide what’s worth fighting for.”

“Survival,” John says roughly.  “Sometimes survival is all you can do.”

“For who?” Sandra says.  “Just you?  Or everyone like you?”

“You can’t put everyone’s survival on one person,” John snaps.  He knows what she’s doing and he doesn’t like it.  “You gotta start with one.”

“I agree,” Sandra says.  “But there’s a lot at stake here, and you’re not alone.  I want you both to know that.”

He bites back a protest she doesn’t deserve.  Sandra’s been there for him through a lot of stuff she didn’t have to be.  She won’t ditch him just because he’s having a crisis of faith with an android.  And she won’t judge him because he sometimes wonders if that’s what it it is, but Dorian will.

So he just says, “Yeah,” and, “Thanks,” because he owes her.  They both owe her.

“Good night, John,” Sandra says.  “Good night, Dorian.”

He sees Dorian smile out of the corner of his eye.  “Good night, Captain,” Dorian replies.

“See you tomorrow,” John mutters before he hangs up.  He drops the phone, even if Dorian doesn’t need the gesture to know it’s disconnected.  “If you want.  It’s your call.”

Dorian is still smiling, which seems weird.  “She thinks we can do it.”

“Yeah, well.”  John wants to think they can do it too.  “We’ve been over what Sandra thinks.”

“We started this because I wanted to be closer to you,” Dorian says.  “That hasn’t changed.”

That’s about as straightforward as it gets.  John used to think he was blunt.  Then he met Dorian, and he realized how many different ways there are of saying what you mean.  “I’ll go with you,” he says.  He doesn’t want to.  But he’ll do it, and Dorian deserves to know that much.

“I know,” Dorian says.  “That’s why I’m not going.”

Maybe John’s just too tired to work that out, but if it’s bad he doesn’t want to know.  It’s what he wants to hear.  He reaches out and puts a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, fingers brushing his neck above the collar of his t-shirt.  “Can I?”

Dorian doesn’t bother to ask what.  He just says yes, and John leans in to kiss him like he does it every day.  Like they’re just a couple of guys on the couch, putting off the end of the weekend as long as they can.


	25. Chapter 25

Their press agent’s name is Kirby.  She doesn’t introduce herself, and John wouldn’t have even noticed her Monday morning if he wasn’t looking for anyone out of place.  She’s not in the bullpen: she’s up in one of the glass-walled visitor’s offices on the deck, and Dorian IDs her the same time he does.

“Is that--” John begins.

“Kirby Anicita,” Dorian says, smooth but quiet in the controlled chaos of shift change.  They’re on time, for once, without John dragging his feet or Dorian doing it just to get back at him.  “Formerly of Pegasus, now consulting for the LAPD and assigned to Delta Division for the foreseeable future.”

“Assigned to us, you mean,” John grumbles.

“She’s not exactly rushing down here to meet us,” Dorian points out.

“Maybe she only cares about us when we talk to people,” John says.

“Morning, boys,” Valerie says, dropping a bag on her desk and a coat over her chair.  “I hear you rate a press agent now.  Does this mean Dorian and I should stop answering your email?”

“John just received a request to forward media inquiries to PR,” Dorian says.  A line of blue flickers under his skin as he adds, “The address appears to belong to Ms. Anicita.”

“Kirby Anicita?” Valerie repeats, and John nods up at the formerly vacant office.  “Huh.”

John knows that tone of voice.  “You know her?”

Valerie shrugs.  “I’ve seen her around.  She’s pretty well-known in PR right now.  From what I hear, she’s on her way up.”

“Great,” John says.  “Can’t wait to be her story of the year.”

He’s jumpy for the rest of the morning, and even Richard isn’t much of a distraction.  He shows up mid-shift, and John takes a second look at his MX number: 646.  He gets caught looking and nods awkwardly before he remembers to look away.

The MX acknowledges him, which has to be a first.  “Detective.”

“Morning,” John mutters.

“Who’s that?” Richard demands.  He’s looking up at the deck, and John doesn’t bother to answer.  He’s smart.  He can figure it out.

“PR rep,” Valerie says.  “Don’t worry, she already knows more than she needs to about your weekend.”

John looks up in time to see Richard glare at him, and it’s convincing enough that he puts up his hands in automatic denial.  He didn’t tell Valerie anything.  Luckily she’s not looking when she adds, “Working again?”

“Hey, I do my job,” Richard tells her.  “Maybe you don’t know what that looks like.”

“You had an MX signed out so long you had to go back and pick up another one,” Valerie says.  “You ever hear of a day off?”

“Maybe I like to show my partners a good time,” Richard says.  “Unlike some people I could mention.”

“Yeah, they recognize a good time when you drop them off,” Valerie replies.

Richard always says that the secret to being undercover is telling as much of the truth as possible.  He certainly wasn’t working when John saw him.  He had two MXs out this weekend?  How does Valerie even know that, anyway?

Unfortunately, the two of them are a self-contained natural disaster, and as entertaining as it is to watch them needle each other it doesn’t keep John from noticing when the press agent disappears.  It makes him more irritated instead of less, because he can’t keep an eye on her if she isn’t there.  On the other hand, when he and Dorian go out on a call she isn’t there either, and that’s worth something.

She’s in her office again when they come back.  She ignores them better than John’s been ignoring her, so finally he corners Sandra and asks her what’s going on.  Sandra looks surprised.  “What’s going on with who?”

“The press agent,” John says.  “She’s creepy, sitting up there in that room.”

“No press in the bullpen,” Sandra says.  “You want to talk to her, go knock on the door.”

“I don’t want to talk to her,” John says.  “I don’t want anything to do with her.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”  Sandra stares at him like he’s the one being unreasonable.  “She’s not here to shadow you, John.  She has plenty of work to do without getting in your way.”

He doesn’t believe that, but at the end of the day he looks up and she’s gone.  He looks to his right and Dorian’s still there.  He frowns, and Dorian gets it because he shrugs.  “Hey,” John says under his breath.  “Not complaining, here.  But what the hell?”

“The number of unanswered emails forwarded from your account has dropped from 836 to 121,” Dorian says.  “And there’s a new tipline image being circulated that implies we’re on the other end.”

John blinks.  “We, as in, you?  A DRN?  Not an MX?”  

He was on a tipline poster back in the day, but that was when he had a human partner.  One of the messages of the “Meet your MX” campaign is that tips--anonymous and otherwise--are treated objectively and confidentially, by a machine that’s programmed not to divulge any information that could reveal the informant’s identity.

“We, as in, both of us,” Dorian says.

Before he can go on, the rest of what he said sinks in.  “Wait, how do you know what she’s doing with her messages?” John asks.  “Are you monitoring her email?”

“That would be illegal,” Dorian reminds him.  “I’m monitoring your email, which you gave me permission to do.  Just because it happens to be delivered to a different address doesn’t make it hers.”

He’s still hacking the system, and John should learn to keep his mouth shut when they’re surrounded by MXs.  “Okay,” he says.  “So.  We going home, or what?”

Dorian doesn't move.  It's a deliberate kind of stillness that John's learned to recognize as Dorian suppressing some kind of human-like impulse.  "Home?" he says.

It wasn't supposed to be a big thing.  John just meant, did he want to be dropped off somewhere.  But now he has to spell it out, so he says gruffly, "My place?"  It comes out as a question.  "Or wherever.  I can give you a ride, anyway."

Because Dorian usually went back to the lab, not the factory.  It's not like John doesn't drive him around all the time.  And he didn't jump up to join the MXs on shift change, so.  He must be waiting for something.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Dorian asks.

They were together all weekend; John doesn’t know why he’s asking now.  “Compared to what?” he wants to know.  “Compared to--”  But he can’t say what they talked around all weekend.  They have to pretend that option never existed, that they never once considered it.  “Yeah.  I think it’s very wise.”

“Compared to our relatively normal workday,” Dorian says, and he keeps his voice low but he doesn’t look over his shoulder.  He knows exactly who can hear them and who can’t.  “And given our apparent acceptance by the department--”

For now, John thinks.

“For as long as it lasts,” Dorian continues, “maybe we should try to play by the rules.”

“They’re not accepting anything,” John mutters.  “They’re trying to appease us.  They didn’t care what we did until other people started paying attention.”

“So,” Dorian says.  “Perhaps compromise is the best solution.  They allow us this, and we do our best not to aggravate the situation.”

“Allow us what?”  John stares at him.  “Our jobs?  What we were doing before?  That’s not a compromise.  That’s them saying no and not firing us for it.”

“At least we got to try it,” Dorian says.

“It’s not enough,” John insists.  “Look, they conceded.  That doesn’t mean we apologize, it means we won.  We take what we got, and we got this.  We got us.  You can come over to my place if you want.  You don’t have to.  But you can.  That’s what this means.”

Dorian just looks at him for a long moment.  John’s standing up, and he doesn’t know when he moved, but Dorian didn’t.  Dorian’s still sitting next to his desk.  “How do you know what it means?” Dorian asks at last.

“It means what we say it means,” John says.  “If they could have fired us, they would have.  Now’s not the time to back off, man.  Now’s the time to go all in.”

That finally makes Dorian smile.  “Have you noticed that most of your actions fall into the category of ‘all in’?"

“If it’s worth doing,” John says.  He was going to leave it at that until he sees Dorian’s curious look.  “Then you do it.  End of story.”

“Sounds more like the beginning to me,” Dorian says, standing up.

John’s about to complain--about something, sappiness, poetry, he doesn’t know--when he realizes what just happened.  “Hey,” he says.  “Did you just feed me a line?”

“It’s possible,” Dorian says.  “Did it sound like a line?”

“I think you could use some practice,” John tells him.

“I’ll need a ride first,” Dorian says.

John grins.  The best response to that is one he can’t say at work, but he gets to see Dorian outside of work.  So there’s time.  

“You’re on,” he says.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic]The Reasons For Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763215) by [readbyjela (jelazakazone)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/readbyjela)




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